


HAZE: RESPONSUM

by anonemones



Series: HAZE [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Amalgamation - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Death, Experimentation, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Kinda, Lots of chasing scenes, Monsters, Non-Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Violence, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Puzzles, Science Experiments, Sibling Rivalry, The Void, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, battles, soul swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonemones/pseuds/anonemones
Summary: Sans and Papyrus have been missing for months now, and still, no sign of them can be found. Though their friends have faith that they'll find them, such faith is beginning to wane.Wingdings and Aster, still trying to figure out their pasts, had just begun settling in when, once again, their worlds are flipped on a head, and they end up in a different reality known only as "The Void." As the traverse the dangerous landscape, they uncover clues and answers that tell of what happened to them, how everyone forgot them--and what happened to the skeleton brothers.But such things don't come easily, as the Void is full of both old and new acquaintances, lost in limbo, with one goal on their minds: to keep the twins from escaping.





	1. MEET YOUR MAKER

The twins stumbled back, mouths hanging open in horror, staring eye-to-eye with the skeleton brothers. Their forms glitched and warped in front of them, dyed in shadow, white specs obscuring their view here and there. The skeletons held identical expressions, troublesome ones, their eyesockets dark and jaws locked in wide, unsettling smiles.

The everchanging walls around them settled into a bland, monotonous splash of white and grey, mimicking tile and floor to recreate a familiar room that neither of them had seen in years.

The lab. _Their_ lab—Dr. Gaster’s.

The laughter from before died down into a dull ring, shrouding them all in numbing silence, excluding the ever-present static.

All was calm. For the moment.

“Dings,” Aster whispered, glancing over to his brother from the corner of his eyes. “Dings, what d’we do?”

The static grew louder, piercing their ears. The image of the skeleton brothers flickered, looming above them.

Wingdings remained silent for some time, staring up at Sans and Papyrus in what Aster could only guess to be awe, not comprehending his brother’s question at first. Then, meeting his eyes, he said, “I don’t know.”

That scared Aster more than what stood in front of them.

Static blared in their ears, their heads ringing, and in that span of confusion, of disbelief, it seemed that Sans and Papyrus had come to their own decision.

The boys were greeted with the familiar sounds of Gaster blasters charging themselves, the monstrous skulls hovering high above them, aimed at their frozen frames.

“ _Run!_ ” The word flew from his mouth before Aster could stop it, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him away from the attack just before it fired. The floor remained scorched, just where the two had been standing.

Neither of them needed further warning. They took off, dodging blasts and bone as they charged the door, throwing it open and slamming it closed behind them. Running outside, they found the hall beyond twisted and turned, branching off in various directions.

Dings hesitated. “Which—”

“Dings, you _idiot_ , don’t stop—” His brother dragged him along, keeping him on his feet. “Just pick one and go.”

“But—”

_Bang! Bang!_

The door behind them splintered, broken into pieces as if it were nothing. They both gasped, stepping away just as the skeletons stepped into view.

“ ** _Where are you going—_** ”

“ ** _We’re not finished here—_** ”

“Just _go_!”

Aster grabbed Wingdings’s wrist, pulling him in the opposite direction. He pulled them down one of the many branches, which quickly blended into one. An optical illusion.

They didn’t know where they were going; with how much the hall changed before them, and how the floor behind them cracked and fell away with every attack the skeletons threw their way, they were stuck going nowhere other than forward, stuck on the path they’d chosen. Doors slammed open and closed on either side of them, splotches of static eating away at everything as they ran, ran, _ran_ —

“ _Ah!_ ”

Dings fell, Aster stopping in his tracks.

“Dings!” Aster knelt down beside him, his brother whimpering on the floor. Rolling him onto his back, he found a bone jutting through the other’s leg. “Oh, _God_ —”

_Crash!_

“ _Hello…?_ ”

“ _Get back here…_ ”

The skeletons could be heard not far down the hall, and one glance up told him that if they stuck around much longer, they’d be caught.

“Shit.” Aster looked around, looking for something, anything, that could help them right now—

“A-Aster…”

He glanced back down at Dings, who cradled his injured leg, tears filling his eyes. “P-Pull it out…”

Aster was taken aback for a moment, eyes wild, “Are you stu—”

“ ** _Hello?_** ”

“ _This way—_ ”

Sans and Papyrus were getting closer.

They didn’t have much time.

He paused, biting his lip, before he sighed, hands falling on the bloodied bone. “Alright,” he murmured, “alright, fine. But don’t scream—you can cry all you want, but dammit, don’t scream, okay?”

Wingdings nodded, tears streaming down his face, “Okay…okay, I can— _ggGK_ —”

Aster didn’t wait for him to finish. He yanked the bone out of his brother’s wound, wincing at the squelching sound that followed, chucking it across the room.

Wingdings, face in his hands, screamed, though the sound was muffled by the fabric of his sweater.

“ _There—_ ”

“ **Found you—** ”

Aster was quick to grab him, pulling him up on his good leg. “C-C’mon, bro. Get up.”

Grunting, Aster wrapped his brother’s arm around his shoulders, dragging him forward. He ignored his whimpers and groans—for now.

They started forward, limping away—

_Ping!_

—but they stopped. They both looked up, something glowing above their head.

Bones appeared, surrounding them on all sides.

“ _Shit_ —”

Aster jumped back, pulling Dings with him, dodging out of the way.

The bones rained down, crashing into the floor—which fell away, trapping them on the same side as the skeletons.

“Oh no—”

“We’re trapped—”

The boys stood at the edge, looking down, eyes wide from horror. Breaths caught in their throat, they were unable to say the many scrambled thoughts spiraling out of control in their heads.

_Ping!_

They spun around—Wingdings less so, still clinging to Aster’s side—face-to-face, once again, with the skeletons.

Sans and Papyrus stood in front of them, motionless. Their bodies warped, mouths locked in permanent grins, their presence sent shivers down the twins’ spines.

Nobody moved.

“…What.” Dings broke the silence, grunting as he shifted into a better position. Aster kept a firm grip around him, keeping him upright. “What…what do you two _want_? I tho-thought you…you were better than this?”

“Y-Yeah,” Aster added, stumbling over his words, “I mean, you’re—our friends talk like you’re the best of the best. Why us?”

“We never did anything to you…Hell, w-we’re the whole reason you…exist in the first place! S-so, why—”

_Ping!_

He stopped mid-sentence, both of them looking down at their chests. Their SOULs, cracked and faint, glowed underneath their sweaters, alight with a bluish-grey and pulsing erratically.

The skeletons, their arms outstretched, hands glowing with magic, narrowed their eyes.

Aster and Dings shared a look. “…Our souls…?” Dings asked.

The other twin was more demanding, “What’re you going to do with them?”

But they needn’t have asked. For, when the skeletons dropped their hands back to their sides and their magic had subsided, the twins could clearly see what their problem was.

Amidst the glitching and flickering of their bones, with all of the static and painful white noise surrounding them, the twins were shocked to find nothing resting in either of their chest cavities.

The skeletons had no souls.

_They had the skeletons souls._

As the realization hit them, the peculiar smiles on the skeletons’ faces reappeared, and they stepped forward, the air around them cluttered with distorted, screaming shadow.

“ ** _Give them back._** ”

“ **Give them BACK**.”

“ ** _GIVE THEM BACK GIV%E THEM B#ACK GI*E TH%#EM BA!ACK GIV & T^HEM B/!#ACK GIV*E THEM BACK_** ** _GIVE TH!*EM B@(*ACK GIVE THEM BA$%CK GIVE *THEM BACCK GIVE THHEM BAC*@K GIVE TH &&M BACK GI!&VE THEEM BAC!K GIVE THE@@M BAC#K GI##@ T@!M BA%K G#$@ T!*#& BA@*#CK GI$##VE THEM B#%@#—_**”

They became unintelligible, voices drowned out in static. Laughter echoed all around them, and, as the skeletons drew near, the twins backed away, screaming…

In their panic, they stepped off the platform.

And

they

fell.

 

***

 

_“They’re here.”_

_“They are?”_

_“ **Excellent. This will work out perfectly.** ”_

_“They are aware.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“ **We were betrayed**.”_

_“…I see.”_

_“ **Lock them up. And don’t let them escape**.”_

_“_ **They can’t leave** _.”_


	2. DO YOU REMEMBER?

_Darkness consumed him. He saw nothing; his ears ringing, mind lagging behind, trying to comprehend what was going on and where he was. He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell._

_He found himself unable to move. Hovering in the inky black, utterly stuck, all he could do was listen, with his sight completely blocked out by nothingness._

_“Wingdings!”_

_His name. Someone’s voice—they sounded familiar, though he couldn’t place a name to them._

_Ghostly hands gripped his shoulders, and Wingdings felt them shake him, felt them pull tighter and tighter on his sweater, but he couldn’t move. His leg felt odd. Why was it tingling?_

_“Wingdings, wake up! He won’t wake up—is Aster okay?”_

_“He’s not responding either.” Another voice joined the second, unrecognizable. He barely registered the words._

Aster? That name…

_No, that’s right—Aster’s his brother. Small, fragile._

_Scared._

What’s wrong with Aster?

_His leg felt like it was on fire._

_“Toriel, what’s wrong with them?” The first voice asked, shaking. Wingdings’s breathing quickened, mouth hanging open in a silent scream._

I’m fine _, he wanted to say._ I’m right here—I’m fine! Quit talking about me like I’m not **here**!

_“I don’t know,” another voice—Toriel, he guessed—spoke. Large hands lifted him, pulling him higher and higher in the dark. “They need medical attention. They’ve been hurt.”_

Hurt…?

_His head throbbed. His leg pulsed. But why—_

_A child holding a knife._

_Odd faces, faceless static, chasing him and pulling him to the ground._

_The lab._

_The skeletons._

_Dings choked, coughing. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “As…Aster…”_

_“Did he just speak—”_

_“He’s alive! He’s okay!”_

_“Frisk, child, calm down—”_

_“As…ter…he…hel…”_

_His mouth filled with tar. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t_ breathe _._

_His hands flew up to his neck, grabbing something soft._

_A scarf._

_“…P…Pap…y…”_

_“Papyrus?”_

_“He_ knows _where_ Papyrus _is?”_

_“Wingdings, stay with us—what happened? Who did this? Where is Papyrus?”_

_The voices surrounding him began to fade, drifting away._

_Wingdings began to sink, the darkness closing in._

_“Wing…whe…he…som…”_

_The substance surrounding him clawed its way into his mouth, his ears, his nose. He choked and coughed, trying to hack it back up, but failed, only making the situation worse by panicking. The void matter clouded up his mind, shoving its way down his throat, searching, reaching for his soul—_

Wingdings opened his eyes to find himself lying on a patch of golden flowers.

“ _Ack_ —”

He shot up, hands flying to his throat, eyes wide as he coughed. Lingering remains of the tar-like substance stuck to his fingers, burning as it was forced out of his lungs and onto the ground. Dings doubled over in the buttercups, wheezing.

 _What_ , he wondered, _what_ was _that…?_

Wiping tar and blood from his mouth with his sleeve, he looked around, breaths shaky and uneven.

He recognized the place immediately; one of the lower levels of the lab, resting outside of the usual testing rooms. Flowers blossomed all around, mostly buttercups, though other species of flora clung to his ankles, reaching for the sky. Dull, grey spotlights shined through the greenhouse’s walls, bathing Dings in what would have been sunlight, if it weren’t for the antimatter staring back at him.

Wingdings narrowed his eyes, shielding them as he went to stand, “Wh— _ahh!_ ”

He crumbled down to his knees, gripping his leg. Liquid fire shot down to his foot, the boy whimpering as blood poured from the wound, joining a pool that’d collected while he’d been asleep.

Biting his lip, Dings steadied his breathing, trying to focus on anything other than the pain. And the blood.

 _I have to stop the bleeding_ , he told himself. _I’m not going to get anywhere if it keeps on like it is…_

Slowly, he bent down, sitting gently among the flowers. His hands shaking, he reached up to his sweater and tore the fabric, wrapping the piece around the injury. He yelped when he tied it off, the scrap wrapped around tighter than he intended.

His leg looked swollen—maybe even infected—but when he got up next, he could stand, leaning more weight on his good leg than the bad.

_Oh, well. I’ll live._

_…Hopefully._

Dings glanced around at the flowers then, arms wrapped around his middle. He pushed some away, limping forward, but it was no use.

He was alone.

_Where did Aster go…?_

“Aster?”

He shuffled forward, gritting his teeth. The more he walked, the less it hurt.

“Brother, this isn’t funny…”

“… _I just wish he’d take me seriously for once_.”

Dings jumped, freezing in place.

The voice came from behind him.

And it sounded _awfully_ familiar.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenching into fists. _Don’t look_ , he told himself, _don’t look, don’t look, don’t look…_

“ ** _D o n ’ t  i g n o r e  m e_**.”

Slowly, Dings let out a sigh, hands gripping his front. _I guess I don’t have much of a choice, now, do I?_

Biting his lip, he opened his eyes and turned his head, carefully turning himself around to face none other than Papyrus, sitting among the flowers.

He looked different than the last time he’d seen him. Instead of the makeshift armor he’d worn, he now wore an orange sweatshirt with patches stitched onto the elbows, jeans and boots. Straps latched onto his belt, hanging on either side of him, though Dings wasn’t sure if they had some kind of purpose or if they were just a design choice. _If he’s smart, probably both._

His body no longer glitched; no longer wavered; completely stable. And yet, his chest still held a vacant, gaping hole, holding nothing but the Void.

“It’s rude to ignore people when they speak to you, Doctor,” Papyrus said, pulling his knees up to his chest. He smiled then, his eyesockets weighed down with lack of sleep. Dings wondered if the skeleton ever slept at all, from how lean he was. “Though, it’s understandable. You seem _quite_ jumpy.”

“S-Stay away from me.” Dings took a step back, summoning an attack. “I’m not falling for—whatever _this_ is. Now why don’t you tell me where my brother is, o-or go back to your _own_ , or _something_ —”

“Falling for what?” Papyrus frowned, leaning forward. “You…do realize we’re just _now_ meeting, right? Er, well—the first time that I am _personally_ present, anyway.”

Wingdings lowered his hand, his attack fading. “…What?”

The skeleton paused, fixing the other with a strange look. Then, he snickered. “Ah, I see what’s happening—you were tricked, too.”

“ _Tricked_?” Dings asked, but he was interrupted before he could press farther.

“That’s okay; I forgive you. I was… _also_ afraid when I first woke up here. Shocking, I know! Usually, someone like myself would keep their calm, but—but without Sans, I’ve…” He sighed. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Dings watched as the skeleton gestured to the flowers in front of him, humming.

“You should sit down, Doctor. Give your leg a break.”

The smaller monster crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the other. “I’m alright with staying _just_ as I am, thank you.”

Papyrus raised a brow at that. “...Suit yourself.”

Silence washed over the two of them, Dings still staring the other down as Papyrus played with the flowers.

It didn’t take long before the ex-Royal Scientist groaned and took a seat, wincing at the pain in his leg. He frowned at the resulting smile on the skeleton’s face. “There. I’m sitting—now, _explain_.”

“What is there to explain that you don’t already know?” Papyrus questioned, leaning back. “If I remember correctly, it was _you_ and _your_ _brother_ that trapped Sans and I here.”

“No we did _not_.” He leaned forward, but when he did a stabbing pain shot through his head, and he winced, backing away. Dings kept his distance, his stomach churning from how close he was to the skeleton. The air hummed around him, and even with the few feet resting between them it felt as though he would melt into nothing. _Maybe because of this ‘soul’ situation?_ “I don’t even remember _being_ here!”

“You don’t?” Papyrus looked genuinely surprised at that. “That’s…unsettling. Though again, this place _is_ tricky…” He paused, rubbing at one of the petals on a buttercup. “What _do_ you remember?”

Dings hesitated, looking away, “Well…I remember the lab, and—and Aster, but after the explosion, I—”

“There was an explosion?”

“…Yeah.” Dings perked up. “I…fell on top of you, actually.”

Papyrus blushed.

Dings paled, flailing his hands, “Not like _that_ —”

“I was _there_?”

“Well, _yes_! You were our _experiments_!”

Papyrus tensed. His expression fell, the skeleton looking away.

Dings panicked, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s alright.” Papyrus wrung his hands, wiping pollen from his palms. “I’ve…seen bits and pieces of your ‘experimenting.’ It’s just…weird. To be called an ‘experiment,’ I mean.”

Wingdings twisted the hem of his sweater in his hands, looking down. His face flushed with shame. “…I don’t remember this place,” he said finally, “I mean, being here, feels—it feels _familiar_ , but…it’s like déjà vu, I suppose. I know there was an explosion…and then I woke up at Ms. Toriel’s place.”

Papyrus blinked, letting the information set in. And then he sighed, shaking his head. He chuckled. “This is going to be more difficult than I thought!” He ran a hand over his face, giving Wingdings a strange, pitiful look. “Admittedly, with how brilliant ‘Dr. Gaster’ is, I was hoping _something_ would stick in that head of yours, but…apparently not.”

“Are you _insulting_ me—”

“— ** _Quiet_**.”

Dings flinched when the skeleton’s frame warped, flickering out of existence for a second. He shrunk in on himself, falling silent. _God, what did we create…?_

Papyrus calmed, returning back to his usual self. He smiled. “Sorry. But I wasn’t finished!” He clapped his hands together, leaning back and giving the two of them breathing room, with how stifling the air was becoming. “I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence, but you _have_ to understand—the Void is very complicated! Or, at least, from what I’ve learned it is. It’s always changing, and just about everything is hostile! It’s…frightening.”

“Okay, I’ve gathered that…but what does that have to do with—” Dings waved his hands around, gesturing to the greenhouse, “—all of _this_?”

“Well, you’re looking for your brother, correct?” When the smaller nodded, Papyrus mimicked him, humming. “Well, he’s not here.”

“What do you _mean_ —”

“When you…came from wherever you were _before_ now,” Papyrus explained, “the Void split you two apart. It’s all about strategy—take away the safety net, and you’re left scared and vulnerable. Now, if any of those…weird monsters…find you, you’re more than likely to make mistakes. To, ah, flub up.” His eyelights glazed over for a moment. “Or, at least…that’s how Sans put it, before…well. You can probably guess.” Papyrus gestured around, laughing dryly. “I didn’t end up here at random, after all! And I’m not meeting _you_ for no good reason, either, so you _better_ listen!”

The scientist paled as he spoke, swallowing past a lump in my throat. “So…so this is all happening on _purpose_?” he asked. “…Why?”

“I don’t know.” Papyrus frowned, looking at his hands. “that part of me isn’t here to tell me.”

“‘That _part_ of you’?”

“Oh, yes!” Papyrus jumped up them, bouncing on his heels. “I should have mentioned earlier, but—this isn’t actually _me_. And judging from the way you acted, you’ve met another me before now—another me that’s _not_ me—that is only _part_ of me! The real me is…ah, how did they put it…? Oh, right.”

His eyelights disappeared, and Dings tensed when he spoke, his voice hollow, echoing around the room.

“‘ ** _Shattered across time and space, forever lost, meant to be forgotten…_** ’” He blinked then, shrugging. “It’s terrifying, but again, I can’t really do anything about it! That’s your job, not mine.”

“ _My_ job?” Dings stood, wobbling, hissing at the pain coursing through his leg. “I don’t see why it’d be _my_ job to piece you back together…”

“Why, because you have my soul, of course!”

Papyrus reached forward, tapping the other’s chest—and as he did, something strange happened. Wingdings’s soul glowed, and both of them gasped as they were overwhelmed with unimaginable agony, their whole bodies screaming out in pain. They jumped away from each other, breathing heavily and clinging to their chests—Papyrus being soulless and feeling mere echoes of pain he should be feeling, and Dings clinging to his soul as though it’d rip its way out of his chest. And it certainly felt like it was trying to do so.

Papyrus fell back into the flowers, breathless. Then, he laughed. “Whoopsie! I should probably _not_ do that again…”

“ _Please_.” Dings sat down again, whimpering. “Ouch…”

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine.”

Wingdings fell silent, pulling his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees, sighing. He hid his face in his sleeves, mumbling, “Why do I feel like this is all _my_ fault…?”

Papyrus sat up, his smile fading. He looked at the darkness above them, narrowing his eyes at the fake spotlights pretending to be the sun. Then, he moved to sit next to the other, making sure not to touch him. “…I know how you feel, you know,” he said then, messing with his scarf. “I’m worried, too—scared, and alone. I don’t really know what _I’m_ doing, either, but—but that’s okay! Because you’re—you’re not _really_ alone. I mean, as weird as this will sound, and it _is_ weird, trust me—I’m here. Literally—you have my soul, so. I can’t exactly _leave_ you.”

Dings looked up, and Papyrus’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of tears. The child sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. “How would you know?” He muttered. “You’re not even supposed to be _alive_.”

“I’m not supposed to be,” Papyrus hummed. “But I am.”

Dings tried to wrap his head around this, looking at the dirt beneath his sneakers. _He sounds serious, but…how am_ I _supposed to fix this…?_

“…I need to find Aster.” Dings struggled to his feet, brushing himself off. “It was…nice to talk to you, Papyrus. I’m—I’m very sorry that you were created just to end up in this situation.”

“It’s not your fault! You didn’t mean to die.”

“Nobody ever does.” _Not unless they’re…_

Dings shook his head, moving to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him—soft and comforting. Its very presence made Dings’s skin crawl, no matter its intent, interfering with his very existence.

When he turned back around, Papyrus looked down at him, shifting nervously.

“I, ah…have one thing to ask of you, before you go…”

Wingdings waited, pulling himself out of the skeleton’s grasp. “Yes, Papyrus?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Well, I—” Papyrus rubbed his hands together, stepping back, “this feels like a very silly request, but—could you maybe, um—could you take your brother a little more seriously? Please?”

Dings frowned, “What are you talking about? I take him seriously enough.”

Papyrus shook his head, looking down. “Trust me, you don’t,” he told him. “I’ve seen…I’ve seen bits and pieces. You really don’t.” He paused, tugging on the hem of his sweatshirt. “I’m kind of a dumbass, you know?”

Dings’s voice was shrill, “ _Papyrus_ , that’s _crude_ —”

“I know. _Trust_ me, I berate my brother all the time for foul language.” Papyrus giggled, shrugging. Though his laughter fell short, as well as his expression, the skeleton playing with his sleeves. “But it’s the truth. Nobody really likes me all that much; even with living in Snowdin, I never had any friends, no matter how hard I tried to make any. And…I’m not deaf. They always talk about how stupid and childish I am. How I’ll…never amount to anything. I mean, I’m just some silly, clumsy skeleton, right? All I care about is getting into the Royal Guard, right?” He smiled bitterly. Tears filled his eyes. “…But, you know. Nobody ever really asked me what _I_ wanted. They never listened—never paid attention. Not even Sans—my own _brother_ —did. He just…he just _babies_ me. And _lies_ to me, _all the time_. As if I’d never notice…”

Dings let him speak, hands gripping his chest as a terrible pang washed over his soul, crying out. _He’s really messed up over this, isn’t he… “_ What do you want, Papyrus?” he asked him, meeting the skeleton’s eyes.

Papyrus wiped away his tears. “For my brother to be happy.” He paused, thinking about it. “…And a cat.”

Dings laughed at that. “A cat?”

“I’ve heard they don’t eat away at bone like dogs do.” Papyrus shuffled his feet. “Besides, they’re soft. And cuddly…cuddlier than a pet rock, anyways.”

Wingdings snickered, shaking his head. “Well, I’m sure that’ll happen someday,” he said, stepping back.

Papyrus smiled. “Yeah, I hope so…” He sniffed, standing tall. “Just listen to him, okay? He might know a thing or two—actually, he…might know more about _you_ than you know about yourself.”

The scientist paused, nodded. “Okay,” he sighed, “okay. I will.”

“Good! You better—I’ll be watching you, after all.”

The skeleton vanished suddenly, shattering right before his eyes and erupting in a pure, white light. Dings yelped, covering his eyes, but found it to be pointless. Bits of the skeleton clung to him, sinking into his skin, his clothes—

_Ping!_

Dings tensed, looking down.

His soul glowed underneath his sweater, tingling with a strange warmth, tempting him.

Curiously, he summoned it.

He was shocked at what he saw.

Cracks and crevices began to close and lessen, his soul glowing as it began to strengthen and become whole. He almost thought it would, but it stopped short, many cracks still left on its surface.

“…Huh.” Wingdings returned his soul to its rightful place, turning away from where the skeleton once stood. He looked around at the field of buttercups and other flora, smiling to himself. “Well, I guess it’s gonna be hard to forget about you _now_ , huh?”

He limped forward, his arms outstretched, making his way through the greenhouse. He caught sight of a door on the other side of the room, sighing.

Gripping the scarf around his neck, he said, aloud to nobody in particular, “Well, let’s get going. After all, you’re not _really_ gone—are you?”


	3. COLD BODIES AND THE PAIN YOU'VE PUT THEM THROUGH

Aster had no idea where he was.

He laid on a table—that much he could tell, considering how cold his back and shoulders were. A sheet rested on top of him, stifling him, blocking his line of sight from the room. His arms and legs hung loosely at his sides, sore from the fall. The room smelled of gas and cooked meat.

Machinery churned somewhere else, churning in time with Aster’s stomach.

_I’m gonna be sick…where the hell am I?_

He tried to sit up, to stand, but his body wouldn’t move. In fact, he couldn’t do anything; his fingers wouldn’t flex, his leg wouldn’t twitch, his mouth wouldn’t open. He could barely breathe.

 _Am...am I paralyzed?_ Then, breath quickening and eyes darting around, he wondered, _Where’s Dings? What’s going on?_

_Bzzt!_

A buzzer went off somewhere, followed by a door opening. Footsteps echoed, getting closer and closer.

Aster struggled to keep himself from spiraling into a panic attack. _Breathe, just breathe, calm down, you’re fine, you’re fine everything is fine just_ breathe—

His thoughts were caught off by people talking, their voices hushed and level.

“How long do we have?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

“And you’re _sure_ our Majesty’s distracted?”

“For now, though I’m sure when he finds out that Queen Toriel’s tending to the children instead of in the gardens, he’ll be back before we know it.”

Aster’s mind reeled. _What…no…nonono…_

 _It can’t be…this can’t be_ happening—

“That’s unfortunate. We’ll have to make this quick, then.” Though muffled due to the cloth over his head, Aster could clearly hear his brother’s voice, though it sounded older and mature, before all of this had started. Cold and indifferent, his voice drew near, hovering over him now. “Have you taken the readings yet?”

“Dings, what do I look like to you?” His own voice—older, but shriller than his brother’s—answered, followed by a huff. Aster pictured himself crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the other scientist, a repetition of a memory that happened a long, long time ago. “Just do your job and get the hell out, wouldja?”

“As far as I am aware, this _isn’t_ my job, it’s _yours_. I just happened to take pity on the fact you can’t focus for more than three seconds.” Wingdings sighed, Aster choking when a hand landed on his chest. “Let’s see if any progress has been made.”

The sheet was removed, and, by doing so, revealed the old, crumbling, makeshift lab beyond. He couldn’t look around much, what with his body betraying him and locking him in place, but he could clearly see the faces of Wingdings and himself, worn, tired and utterly engrossed in their work. A lamp beamed down on them, blinding the boy with no way as to block it out.

 _I’m in the lab_ , he thought, _the one in our basement…but how am I here?_

_…Wait…if I’m here, then…_

Aster glanced over to his right, peering from the corner of his eye, straining to look around.

Sure enough, resting on another table not far off, completely lifeless, was Papyrus. His body incomplete and broken, eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling, he looked like a dead human. The thought made Aster shudder.

An outline of a soul hovered above his body, shimmering dimly, barely holding together. When Aster directed his gaze back to the scientists he found the same to be true of his own—nothing but an outline. Not even his usual spitting cracks and bruises could be found.

His blood ran cold as a realization dawned on him.

 _Oh my_ God _, I’m_ Sans.

“No change in soul structure,” Wingdings muttered, poking at Aster’s—no, _Sans’s_ —soul. It flickered before falling still again, resting just above his chest. “It’s grown resistance to outside forces, though.”

“How much?” The other scientist asked, leaning forward.

Wingdings hesitated, pinching down on the soul.

 ** _AHHHHHHH_** _Oh my God oh my God let go let_ go _that hurts that hurts that fucking_ HURTS _YOU FUCKING_ PRICK _—_

_Crack!_

The soul punctured from the stress of holding itself together, beginning waver.

Wingdings let it go, Aster fighting back tears as he glared up at him. “Some,” he answered, “but not a lot. We may have to test it when we have more time.”

“Alright.” Scientist Aster moved around the table, stepping out of Aster’s vision. From the direction of his footsteps, Aster guessed he was looking over Papyrus. “Papyrus seems to have grown his own ribs!”

“Aster, what did I tell you?” Dings snapped, whipping around to face the other. “ _Don’t_ name the experiments.”

“Why not? It’s not like it’ll hurt anyone. Besides, it’s easier than calling them ‘Test Subject One’ and ‘Test Subject Two’—naming them is shorter and more time efficient.” He paused, humming. “…Looks like, besides the ribs and all, that there’s no change with this one, either.”

“You’re probably not looking close enough,” Dings muttered, still looking over Aster. The boy wheezed, still recovering from his soul being prodded at. “…Hel- _lo_ , what’s this?”

The scientist reached down, and Aster bit back a scream when his hand shoved through his chest, exposing the ribs underneath. He’d forgotten for a moment that this was merely a memory, that he was just a skeleton. Or, was _supposed_ to be, anyway.

He felt uncomfortable…but no pain.

_Weird…_

“What’d ya find, dingus?” The other scientist returned, peering curiously down at him.

“There seems to be something growing inside the skeleton…” He hesitated, Wingdings glancing up at his brother and gesturing to the desk. “Here, hand me that knife, would you?”

Aster could hear himself bouncing up and down, “Ooh, are we gonna cut her ribcage open?”

“ _It_ , as it’s a _skeleton_ —and yes. Now, get me the knife.”

“Skeletons have sexes too, ya know.”

“Aster, _please_ , we don’t have time for this—”

“Fine, fine! I’ll get the thing, jeez…”

Aster’s breathing caught in his throat, panic setting in. He tried, once again, to move, but he remained still, trapped within his body, staring at nothing but the ceiling. His vision began to tunnel.

Someone approached the table, humming to themselves.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore everything, focusing on his thoughts. _Help_ , he wanted to yell, _somebody help, please, make this stop, I don’t want this, I don’t want_ —

“Hey.”

Aster’s eyes flew open, tears falling onto the metal table, eyes focusing on the single person standing next to him.

The setting had changed. The science twins were nowhere in sight, the basement rotting away and near empty besides the discarded, moldy desk and the two test tables.

Holding the knife loosely in his hand, Sans offered a lopsided smile, holding a finger up to his mouth. “Careful,” he murmured, his eyelights cold and unsympathetic, “you might wake the dead.”

He blinked, mind lagging behind, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. _Wh…_ “Wha…what…”

“Gotcha, didn’t I?” Sans chuckled, looking around. He twirled the knife, humming to himself. The song sounded familiar. _Is that…mom’s lullaby? How…how does_ he _know it?_ “I’m gonna admit, I didn’t even know this place existed. Not too bad, either, if you ask me.”

Aster stared, silent.

“Quite the set up—nobody’d expect it’d be down here. Which means there’s no telling what you two’ve done down here, either.” Sans glanced at the wall, charred black. He pointed it out, saying, “I bet you used that to work out some kinks on your attacks. Looks pretty banged up—or maybe you two got into a fight? Not exactly the most functioning family, now, were you?”

Again, Aster remained silent.

“You know, I haven’t been here long, but judging from your expression, you’ve done some pretty awful stuff down here, pal.” Sans leaned forward, knife in hand. “And I don’t have to rely on all I’ve seen in here to see that guilty look in your eyes, either.

“It’s nuts, the kind of memories you lock away just to keep yourself goin’. I wonder, what was your limit—lying to the royal family, maybe? Giving the fallen human those flowers? Or was it me and my bro?”

The ex-scientist sobbed. He didn’t respond.

“…I’m _waiting_.”

Aster swallowed past a lump in his throat, whimpering. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, pausing long enough to cough. “I’m sorry…I didn’t kno—”

“Of _course_ you didn’t.” Sans rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He stepped closer, his voice raising as he gestured around, “Of _course_ you didn’t know! Neither of you two did, right? I mean, you didn’t make all of _this_ for nothing, so it’s pretty obvious to me you knew _something_ was going on!”

“N-No, that’s—if we’d known, we—we wouldn’t have—”

“‘We wouldn’t have put you through it,’” Sans mocked, Aster stunned into silence. “‘We would’ve figured something out.’ Don’t start that bullshit. I’m a scientist too, y’know—I _know_ the kind of shit you tell yourself just so you can sleep at night.

“You just wanted to see what would happen—to see if you _could_.”

Aster’s fingers twitched, clenching into fists. _I can move—_ “No! No, w…we were trying t…to…to help!” His words came out forced, slurred, his tongue refusing to cooperate with him. “We didn’t mean…we didn’t mean to…”

“But you did, didn’t you?” Sans paused, glancing over at the vacant table resting against the wall. “…You created us for a _reason_ , after all. Some kind of fun, home project between brothers—not even _thinking_ about the consequences—for, what? Recognition? Fame?”

“I’m telling the tr—”

“Or was it because of what happened with your parents?”

Aster fell silent, his eyes wide.

Sans grinned, elbows resting on the table. “Heh. Yup—there it is.” He laughed, shaking his head. He stood, swinging his arms as he went, the knife narrowly missing Aster’s face. “God, you two are so _pathetic_. Pap and I never had parents, but at least we had the decency _not_ to throw shit on everyone else just because our family life was on the fritz.”

“Don’t…don’t talk about my—”

“And why _not_? I mean, if they’re important enough that they’re the sole reason any of _this_ is happening, then it’s obvious the two of us need to have some one-on-one time as to why the _fuck_ you created us in the first place just to put us through all of _this_.”

Aster heaved breaths, his panic attack set in full motion. _I have to get out of here._

His mind running through a loop, his chest tight and eyes blurry, he whimpered, rolling onto his side and trying to climb off the table.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Sans grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back onto it, pressing him against the metal.

“Let…let me go!” Aster tried to push him away, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have much strength in his arms. “Please, I—I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you, I just—I just—”

“Will you stop your whining and do as I ask?” Sans dug his fingers into the boy’s shoulder, the other crying out. “You’re not going _anywhere_ until you tell me what you did!”

“Well I sure as hell didn’t kill my coworkers, you fucking asshole! Now, let me _go_!”

Aster hadn’t even realized he’d spoken until the words flew out of his mouth, his face pale and sweaty when his thoughts caught up with him.

“I—I didn’t mean that—”

Sans’s eyes blew wide, his smile slackening. Then, his expression turned murderous, raising the knife. “You little _brat_ —”

He plunged the knife into the boy’s shoulder.

Hot, piercing pain shot through the ex-scientist, and Aster screamed. He clawed at the skeleton’s hands, trying to free himself, both beginning to melt the moment he touched them. He shoved his foot into Sans’s stomach, but he didn’t budge, and he watched in horror as the skeleton reverted into the warping, static mess he’d seen prior to ending up in the lab.

“W _h **y**_ **_d_ i**d y ** _o_** u **d _o_** i _t_?” He shouted, raising the knife above his head. “ _Wha_ t t **h** _e_ **_fu_** c _k_ _di_ **d** _yo_ u do **t** o _m_ y **b _r_** _ot_ **h _e_** _r_?”

Sans brought the knife down, Aster raising his arms to protect his face. But it wasn’t his face the skeleton was aiming for.

The pain that followed was by far the worst pain Aster had ever experienced in his life—and that included falling down. The world went black for a moment, his body startled into a confused hum at first—and then his chest rose into an uproar, the ache spreading from the stab in his soul, his very being, and drifting into every portion of his body until the pain consumed him, head to toe. His sweater soaked with blood in seconds.

The moment the knife buried into his chest, Sans’s body exploded, leaving nothing but bits of bone behind. The world, too, had cut to black, emerging him in darkness.

Aster bit down on his lip, his shaking hands falling on the knife.

 _Don’t scream_ , he thought, bracing himself.

He ripped it out with his good arm in one swift movement, the breath knocked from his lungs. He didn’t even have enough energy to cry out.

Blood rushed out from the wound, covering his hands, soaking into his sweater. Hands shaking, they fell on his chest, weak, green magic glowing at his fingertips.

 _It won’t close_ , he realized. _It’s not closing up…oh no, oh no, oh no…what do I do it’s not closing up I’m gonna die—_

He fell back with a gasp, hands falling limply at his sides. He was so dizzy.

He was so cold.

“Help…” His voice came out as a whisper, heard by nobody.

The darkness around him, cruel as it was, did nothing but sit back and watch him bleed out in its hold, unforgiven and lost.

_Help me…_

_Dings…_

His eyes began to slip closed, tears sliding down into the nothing below. Whimpering, he hummed, the notes memorized by heart, his body shaking and numb. The song echoed into the Void, going on for a moment’s time, before it finally died away and fell silent.

….

…

..

.

.

.

.

.

An answering hum sang out, the song mysteriously etched into the person’s very being, as warmth landed on the blood-spattered hole in the boy’s chest. The darkness faded, a bright green glow illuminating their surroundings.

Slowly but surely, the blood on Aster’s clothes shrank and disappeared, as if he’d never bled to begin with. The stab wound closed, leaving behind a scar.

Aster slept crumbled up on the lab’s floor, at peace.

Sans pulled his hands away, shivering, rubbing at his fingers, which had begun splitting just from touching the boy. “Eh, that’ll do, I guess. At least I found ya before you dusted—neither of us woulda liked that very much.”

The boy didn’t respond, snoring, off in some faraway dream.

Sans looked over him, expression conflicted, rubbing his hands together. He sighed, standing and brushing himself off. “Well, guess that’s that, huh?”

He shifted his gaze to the hall beyond, listening. In the murky sludge blocking his view, he could faintly hear the sounds of someone—one or two, he couldn’t tell—talking, followed by the groans of the damned.

Frowning, he glanced down at the boy, narrowing his eyes. After a moment’s thought he slipped off his hoodie, wrapping it around the boy and carefully lifting him up, making sure to hold onto his hoodie and only that. He restrained himself from dropping the child entirely, as being anywhere near him proved to send electric shocks up and down his frame.

“Alright, kid. Change’a plans— _ugh_ , that’s so _weird_ —you and I are gonna hightail it the hell outta here, a’ight? So, uh, hang tight, I guess.”

He started forward, walking in the opposite direction of the unknown figure.

“…And when we get somewhere safe, I’ve got a couple’a questions to ask of ya.”

 

***

 

Down the hall, shrouded in darkness, a figure mumbled to itself, eyes focused on the two walking away from it. Melted hands clasped together in front of it, it stared them down, but didn’t pursue. There would be no point in starting a chase.

Not yet.

“ _That would have ended terribly_ ,” it spoke, its broken eyes focused on the room ahead. It gripped the cloak wrapped around its huddled shoulders, its fingers sticking together. “ _You shouldn’t have thrown them together. We knew it would have ended poorly—they’re too unpredictable._ ”

“ **We had to test it** ,” it responded, it’s voice changing. Its eyes flashed a mix of red and purple, though only one eye held the glow of misused magic. “ **There was only one way to know if it was safe or not to continue, and that was putting them in the same room together.** ”

“ ** _And now the other one is helping him!_** ”

“ **Well, that wasn’t part of the plan**.”

“ _That’s because it was unpredictable, you insufferable idiot!_ ”

“ ** _Stop arguing!_** ”

It fell silent, grip tightening on its front. It glided forward, narrowing its eyes.

“ ** _It doesn’t matter—even if they are together, they can easily be separated. Besides, they are unpredictable—they might even split apart all by themselves. This may just work in our favor, if we give it a chance._** ”

“ **I suppose**.”

“ _A chance?_ ” it echoed. “ _A chance in_ hell _—this muddies the rest of the plan. Though, I_ am _intrigued as to what will happen next…_ ”

It fell silent, lost in an inner battle that only its scattered, conjoined brain could bring.

“ **Do you think it is safe to move to the next phase?** ” It asked then, breaking the silence.

It hesitated, thinking it over. **_“…Perhaps. Though we must work carefully—we don’t want any more accidents to occur._** ”

“ _I think we can manage that_.”

“ **Then it is decided.** ”

It smiled.

“ ** _Bring the others here_**.”


	4. Mystery Man's Plans for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow questions are answered and even more questions crop up How Amazing

_They’d been there a thousand times._

_Stumbling through the Underground, head bowed, arms wrapped around themselves, Frisk walked along a path in Waterfall, lost to themselves. Their limbs numb, eyes focusing on nothing, they rocked back and forth, their balance unsteady. Their clothes were dirtied and torn, though they weren’t sure if it was the dust or the blood that bothered them more._

_What number were they on, now? Was this their second run? Their third? Fifth? Tenth? Who knows. Their head cluttered with thoughts, their very soul pounding with disgust as their “determination” led them on a leash._

Why am I doing this? _They wondered._ Why am I here?

_Shadows cowered away from their stalking form, clearing a way for them to walk. The Underground remained quiet; not offering a single answer to their questions._

_Frisk tripped to a stop, leaning against the wall. Water fell around them, on them, washing away some of the dust. Some—but not all._

_They checked their stats._

_LV 7._

Not bad _, they thought._ Could be higher, but not bad.

…Sans is gonna kill me.

 _But no, of_ course _he wouldn’t. Sans never fought them—_ ever _. Even when they killed his brother—even when they taunted him and tore that stupid red scarf in half in front of his furious little face—he merely gave them a lecture and moved on. Always letting things slide off his back…_

But that’s fine. I’ll find what makes him tick soon enough.

_The skin on their back tingled, but they ignored it and continued on—_

What?

_—walking into the next room._

_The hall stretched on endlessly, the room beyond shrouded in darkness. Blue, florescent flowers were the first things to be found, blooming all around them and climbing the walls, bathing the hall with their light. They surrounded a dull, grey door, which hung loosely on its hinges, cracked open._

This… _The child fumbled with their hands, eyebrows furrowed together,_ this was never here before. What—what _is_ this?

_Frisk inspected the flowers closer, listening._

_Nothing but static._

Strange…

_They stepped away, eyes falling on the door. Hands hovering over the stick at their waist, they walked over to it, steps tentative._

_They reached forward, steadying their breath. Their arm shook._

Alright _, they thought._ Let’s see what’s been hiding from me, shall we?

_The moment their hand fell on the doorknob, wind blew them back, push them away. Frisk yelped in surprise, digging their heels into the dirt. “Hey—”_

_The door burst open, the gust of wind pressing them against the opposite wall. It howled in their ears, screeching—_ screaming _—unrelenting. The flowers guarding it went out, wilting, their colors mimicking that of the monochromatic door._

 _Frisk set their jaw, waiting for it to pass._ I have to get in there…

_Pressing their palms against the wall, gritting their teeth, they pushed themselves off from it, reaching out. Their hands grabbed onto the doorknob, holding onto either end, keeping themselves from flying back._

_The wind picked up, lifting them from the ground until their feet were perpendicular to the wall. The whole hall was filled with it now, whipping around them, screaming much like those that had fallen to the child only a few hours ago._

_Frisk grunted as they struggled forward, pulling themselves up. The door creaked, groaning from their added weight, shuddering on its hinges. One squealed, threatening to rip itself from the wall._

_Frisk’s eyes widened._ No, no, no, _no_ —

Ping!

_Their panic was the last push they needed. Soul glowing in their chest, determination pulsing through their veins, they pulled themselves into the room, screaming out from the effort of doing so._

_The wind dispersed the moment they fell flat against the floor, the door slamming shut behind them._

_Everything fell silent._

_Frisk propped themselves on their elbows, panting._ Well… _that_ happened.

Now…what the _heck_ was in here that was causing all of _that_?

_Shaking the adrenaline off, Frisk climbed to their feet, brushing themselves off and looking up to find—_

“…Frisk? Are you alright?”

To find…to find…

Frisk blinked, rubbing at their eyes. “ _Ack_ , wha—”

A hand fell on their shoulder, and they jumped, flinching away. Toriel stared down at them with a frown, her eyes heavy and wet. “My child, you are acting very strange. You were shaking just a moment ago…what is the matter?”

Frisk glanced up at her, still blinking away their daze. They looked around at the room—at their bedroom, or what was left of it. Medical equipment and monitors laid about, beeping rhythmically. Alphys snoozed in the corner, resting in a chair, a half-empty cup of coffee sitting on the floor next to her.

 _I’m back in my room…_ They realized _. But—but where was I before this? What was I thinking about, before…_

They tried to remember, tried recalling what they’d been thinking about before Toriel had interrupted them, but they came up empty handed. Lost.

They sighed, turning back to their bed.

Lying on the sheets, tubes hooked up to their mouths and arms, was Aster and Wingdings, cracked souls glowing dimly above their chests. Their bodies were covered in bruises and cuts, breaths forced from the breathing machines, but they were alive.

Frisk leaned closer to them, laying a hand on Aster’s leg. He didn’t so much as move, eyes moving frantically underneath his eyelids. _Warm_ , they noted. _Still not responding, though…_

They pulled away, staring at their hands.

_I hope they wake up soon…_

“Frisk, dear, you’re starting to worry me.” Their mother rested a hand on their head, and Frisk faced her, expression conflicted. “I know you’re worried, and all, with all that’s been happening, but…but if it’s affecting you so much, then—”

Frisk interrupted her, chuckling. “I’m okay.” They smiled, trying to prove it. “See?”

Toriel hesitated, searching their eyes. Then, she sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I suppose…” She fell silent, hand over her mouth as she studied the twins. Her face twisted with agony. “…I wish I could say the same.”

Frisk paused, glancing between their mother and the twins. Then, they leaned back, gripping Toriel’s arm. “It’s okay,” they told her. “It’ll. Be fine. Will figure…something out?”

_That’s not very convincing, Frisk…_

Toriel, still looking at the twins, hummed, eyes glazed over. She tapped her fingers on the chair, someplace far away. “…There were… _so_ many others, Frisk. So many children that fell, that were under my care. That…that left, and went through…and…” She sighed. Eyes watering, her voice constricted, she continued, a sour laugh falling from her lips, “It seems that any child under my care gets hurt.”

“Not your fault!” Frisk waved their arms, shaking their head fiercely. “Not your fault…”

“But it _is_ , isn’t it?” Toriel eyed them, dropping her hand. “I was supposed to watch over them. I was _supposed_ to protect them—to make sure that nothing happened to them, at least until we found Sans and Papyrus. But what do I do? I leave them alone. And now…” She choked up, falling silent. She wiped away a tear before it could fall. “And _now_ , look what’s happened.”

Frisk sits, head bowed as their mother speaks. _That’s not true_ , they want to say. _This isn’t your fault. It’s_ nobody’s _fault; we don’t even know what happened! And maybe when we find Sans and Papyrus, they can tell us what_ did _…_

“…I…wish things. Were normal.” Frisk mumbled, playing with the hem of their shirt. “Wish…wish things weren’t. Mixed up. And Sans…Sans and Papyrus were…here.”

Toriel glanced over to them, seeming to snap out of her memories. She held them gently, trying her best to smile. “I do too, my child.” And then, with a moment’s thought, added, “We’ll find them soon, alright?”

“…Alright…”

_I hope so…_

They sat in silence for a while, holding each other, watching as the twins breathed in time with the machines hooked up next to the bed. The clock ticked on behind them, each second hanging heavy on their shoulders.

Frisk’s eyes began to droop, their mind wandering. _Everything will be okay. It’s the best ending I could have gotten, after all, so…so it has to be…_

_It has to be…_

They drifted off…

 

***

 

_The room looked to be empty at first. Bare walls, rocky ceiling, cracked flooring. No furniture. Nothing of any real interest, in their eyes. Frisk had been disappointed for a second, stomping their foot in frustration due to just how difficult it’d been just to find nothing—_

_But then they saw the man and thought otherwise._

Whoa…

_Stepping closer, they found that he wasn’t simply any ordinary stranger. They had confused him—them—it?—as being human at first, but of course, that had been silly of them; nobody except for them was a human down in the Underground. Shrouded in a black cloak that looked fused with its melted skin, the most the child could make out of its features were two cracks that ran along its face—one running from its jaw, and the other, from its eye._

_Its eyes closed, its face turned up to the ceiling, it stayed motionless, unaware of Frisk’s presence._

_Frisk studied it a moment longer, their face split with a grin. They bounced on their heels._ A new monster! _They thought._ I wonder what I can do with this one…?

_Carefully, so as not to startle it, they stepped up to it, standing right in front of it._

_They reached forward, hand touching its front—_

“ **Frisk**.”

Frisk’s eyes flew open at the voice, awoken from their sleep. They looked around, finding their room just as it had been, albeit with Alphys’s chair vacant and their mother snoozing on their shoulder.

Yawning, they rubbed sleep from their eyes, still reeling from their dream. _Who’s—_

“ **F r i s k.** ”

They gasped as they sat up, their hands gripping their chest, heart pounding against their rib cage.

_That voice!_

Toriel stirred next to them, chin in her hand, mumbling something under her breath before settling back down in her chair. She didn’t move.

“ ** _F r i s k_** ……”

The child jumped out of their chair, knocking it over. “ _Sans_!”

The noise startled the goat monster next to them, snorting in surprise and sitting up, rubbing her head. Toriel groaned, leaning forward as she ran her hands down her face. “Child, what on earth…?” She started, though she broke off in a yawn. “What are you yelling about…?”

Frisk rushed to the window, peering out. A storm brewed outside, rain threatening to fall at any second. They almost laughed. _Sans_ did _say it was always raining_ somewhere _…_ “I heard him.”

“Heard who?” Their mother got to her feet, shuffling over to them and looking out over their head. “Did you have a nightmare, Frisk? You’re awfully pale.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“ ** _Frisk_** ,” a voice whispered in their ear, echoing in their mind. “ **Help**.”

They twisted around, turning towards the door. They wrung their hands, waving their arms, “There it is again—”

“There’s _what_ again?” Toriel knelt down, tightening her hold on their sweater. She felt their forehead, noticing how much they were sweating. “You have a fever…here, you should lay down—”

“No! Mom, I…I _hear_ him! I hear Sans!”

Toriel faltered. Her eyes widened. “…What?”

“Fr-Frisk? Are you o-okay?” Alphys entered the room, holding a mug in one hand and a clipboard on the other. Her lab coat hung oddly on her shoulders, as though it were twisted the wrong way, but she didn’t bother to fix it. She was too tired to even realize it was twisted in the first place. “I-I heard you yell…”

The child all but screamed, “ _I heard_ _Sans_!”

That was all Alphys needed to hear. “ _Really_?”

Undyne peeked in, leaning against the doorframe, “Hey, punk, what’s with all the yelling?”

“They think they’re hearing Sans…” Toriel looked down at her child, her hand gripping onto their sweater. She frowned, shaking her head. “But I don’t…I don’t _hear_ anything—”

“ _H e l p_.”

Everyone froze.

“… _Whoa_.”

“Oh my G-God, it’s _true_!”

“Where on Earth—”

Frisk hesitated, noticing the identical, shocked faces of their family. _They hear it, too,_ they thought. _It’s not in my head! Sans is here! I know it!_

They tugged on their mom’s hand, harder this time, tears filling their eyes as they pulled and pulled in the direction of the door. Not once did they look to the sleeping twins on their bed, who’s souls glowed a dark, pulsing black.

“This way, this way…”

“ ** _H e l p_**.”

“This way, come _on_!”

Frisk tugged once more, and at long last their mother stumbled forward, pulling her after them. Toriel followed behind, disoriented and confused, though her hope was written clearly on her face, for all to see. They pulled her out of the room, Alphys, Undyne, and the other inhabitants of the house—namely, Asgore and Mettaton—following suit.

 Resting inside the house, surrounded by the blaring alarms of the monitors around them, Wingdings and Aster stirred, faces contorted in pain. Their souls crackled and popped, still dyed that inky black color, spilling tar onto the bed. As the room filled with bells and alarms, the monitors’ billowing steam with the effort to alert anyone to the situation at hand, static ate away at the room, before even the alarms could no longer be heard. The twins could do nothing as they were whisked away, engulfed in darkness.

And so, the room, along with the house, remained empty.

Frisk barreled out the back door, stumbling onto the patio, barely keeping themselves on their feet if it weren’t for their mother, who kept them upright. The storm rolled in, unleashing a downpour of rain and drenching everything beneath it.

The group sloshed through the mud, following after the child.

“Frisk,” Undyne hissed, arms wrapped around herself as she shivered, hair hanging in her face, “are you _sure_ this is, y’know, actually _happening_? ’Cause I swear, if this is some kind of sick prank, I’ll lose it.”

“ _You_ heard him!” Frisk glared up at the fish monster before turning back to the matter at hand, searching the area. Their eyes scanned the yard, the trees… “He…he _has_. To _be_ here!”

“My child,” Toriel said, hand clasped over theirs, “even if he’s out here, you should stay inside. Let _us_ look for him—I don’t want you to get sick.”

Frisk tore their hand away, growling, “ _No_!”

“Frisk, c-come on, isn’t this…I-I dunno…sketchy?” Alphys trekked through the mud, fumbling with her hands. She couldn’t look up to meet their eyes. “I-I mean…they’ve been missing f-fo-for _months_. There’s…if that’s _really_ them, then—then h-how could _you_ hear them—er, _him_ —i-in the house? And w-why turn up so _suddenly_ , and _only_ Sans? What if—”

“ _O v e r  h e r e_ …”

The voice sounded from right behind them.

They all turned, Frisk’s soul pounding.

For a moment, everyone stood still, breaths caught in their throats, shock rendering them all useless.

Then, Frisk, grinning from ear to ear, ran forward, unable to keep themselves still a moment longer.

“ _Sans_!”

Both of them were there, in fact. Clothes tattered, bones cracked and bruised, both skeletons lay in the grass and mud, covered in muck and grime. Papyrus didn’t move; didn’t speak, staring at nothing. Sans’s eyelights flickered in his eyesockets, but he showed some sense of clarity as Frisk bomb rushed him with a hug, wheezing out, “Hurts…”

Frisk sniffled and laughed, letting him go and looking the two skeletons over. “You’re alive!” They held onto his arms, clinging onto him, afraid that if they let go he’d disappear and leave all of them all over again. Their thoughts played on repeat, going, _You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay._

_You’re okay._

The rest of their family surrounded the skeletons as well, fretting over them and saying things like “Are you alright?” “Where have you been? We’ve been so worried!” “I’m so glad you’re safe!”

Sans huffed, looking sickly, overwhelmed. His head lulled forward, and when he spoke, his voice did something they’d never heard before. Voice warped, black ooze dripped from his mouth as he wheezed, “Pl _e_ a **se** … ** _pl_** e **a** s _e_ , _don_ ’t **t** o _uc_ h **_m_** _e_ …do **n’t** …”

Alphys was the first to react, gasping and scrambling away. “O-Oh…oh my God…”

“What the hell _is_ that?” Undyne muttered, eyes widening in horror.

Toriel panicked, reaching for Frisk. “M-My child, let him go—”

But Frisk wasn’t startled in the least. Worried, yes, but not scared. Their brows furrowed, they reached forward, touching the inky substance. This feels familiar… “Sans? Sans, what’s…what’s wrong—”

They shook him.

Big mistake.

Sans let out a blood-curdling scream, and as he did, his skull erupted; bone scattering all along the lawn. Everyone screamed and jumped back, cries filling the air that were drowned out by thunder and rain.

All, that is, except for Frisk, who clung to the skeleton’s arms, frozen in place as they stared numbly at the gap in his skull in mute horror. _No…no, no, no, this…this isn’t happening! It_ can’t _be!_

“L…let…go….of…me…” Still, he spoke, his words jumbled as he sobbed, the remaining fragments of his eyes unseeing. Completely blind.

Frisk couldn’t bring themselves to move. Their grip all but tightened around his wrists, their head reeling, not understanding.

Sans’s skull began to melt. “ ** _LET GO OF ME YOU FUCKING BRAT!_** ”

 _BAM! Cr-_ ack _!_

Bones shot up from the ground, smacking Frisk in the chin. They flew backwards, crumbling on the ground a couple feet away from the skeleton. Their vision blurred. They tasted blood.

_Ouch…_

“ _Frisk_!”

Hands grabbing onto them. Pulling them up. Groaning, they blinked away the pain, eyes falling on the skeletons once more. The rest did the same, readying questions on just what the hell _that_ was all about—

But whatever they were about to say was lost when they saw the sight before them.

_VWOOOM!_

Sans and Papyrus levitated in the air, lifeless, surrounded in static and void matter, mouths hanging open and spilling out blood-speckled tar and rust. Smoke billowed from them, an electrified hum ringing in the air as their bodies melted away, leaving nothing. The mass of black and static twisted and merged, converging into—

Frisk gasped.

_No way…_

They’ve seen it before. As the smoke cleared, and the static dispersed, a figure emerged, hunched over but holding an eerie sense of superiority. Dressed in a cloak, its face cracked, it peered at the group with purple irises, hands clasped in front of it.

It grinned.

“ _Pardon us._ ”

“ **We were aware of how fragile their souls were, but, given the circumstances, we needed their energy briefly in order to appear before you as we are now.** ”

“ ** _Though, it was quite the show—don’t you agree?_** ”

Everyone stood, frozen in place, staring down the creature in silence.

It laughed, gliding forward. Its movements were smooth, calculated, graceful. Confident. “ **So much fear! How quaint**.”

“ ** _That will work perfectly in our favor._** ”

“ _But, it is ruining our fun—do wake up now, and show that you’re alive, would you? We’d hate to have to throw away perfectly good souls…_ ”

Undyne hesitated, staring the creature down. Then, baring her teeth, she summoned an attack, shouting, “You monster! Where are Sans and Papyrus?”

The creature inclined its head to her, expression disinterested. “ ** _Why, isn’t that the million-dollar question?_** ” It asked.

“ **Where oh where did we take those precious little skeletons of yours?** ”

“ _Why, they’re everywhere! But nowhere. Dead, but not_.”

“ ** _Forced to wander and wallow in their misery until their souls rot and lose what little energy they still have—if we don’t take it from them, that is_**.”

The group listened to it rattle off, their horrors found with each word.

Frisk panted between gasps, holding their side. _So_ this _is behind their disappearance…?_

Undyne growled, her fists shaking. She ran forward, raising her arrow above her head, “Why, you piece of—”

_Shing!_

She was cut off mid-sentence. Choking, her eyes wide with either pain or surprise (or both, Frisk couldn’t tell), she hovered above the ground, void matter piercing through her chest.

Alphys stepped forward, tears falling down her face, “ _Undyne_!”

The creature lowered its hand, its attack disappearing. Undyne dropped to the ground, eyes rolling into the back of her head, consumed by the Void.

“ _My, my…_ ”

“ **Not much of a fight, now, was it?** ”

“ ** _Disappointing._** ”

Hands covering her face, Alphys stared at the place where her girlfriend once was, unable to speak. “Y…you…you…”

The creature turned to her, its smile enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

“ **Oh. Right**.”

“ _I suppose it_ would _be cruel to keep you two apart_.”

“ ** _Isn’t that right, Dr. Alphys?_** ”

The Royal Scientist gasped, stepping back. “N-No…nonono…n-not _you_ , it—you can’t— _hurk_ —”

_Shing!_

Alphys fell, holding the wound in her stomach. Her gaze pierced that of the creature’s as the Void swallowed her up, the doctor disappearing underneath its cruel, cold darkness.

Toriel let out a cry, standing in front of Frisk, holding her arms out. “What is the _meaning_ of this?” She demanded, her voice labored with sobs. “Do you _really_ think murdering innocent monsters will accomplish anything?”

“ ** _Murder_**?” The creature sounded amused. It chuckled, shaking its head.

“ _My, my—and I thought the Queen of Monsters was smart!_ ”

 _Shing_! Frisk whimpered as Asgore fell, too caught off guard to even scream.

“ **My dear, we do not murder— _we consume_**.”

 _Shing!_ Mettaton.

“ ** _You pathetic little things are nothing but energy to us—a waste of it, actually. And such energy is what keeps us alive. It makes us_ stronger**.”

“ ** _And we’ll wipe every one of you off the face of this damned Earth if it means bringing us back to life_**.”

_Shing!_

The creature stood toe-to-toe with the ex-Queen now, holding her chin as her knees buckled beneath her, holding onto her wound.

“ _After all, those worthless skeletons and our doubles can only keep us stable for so long_.”

“ **We’d have to dispose of them eventually—which means we’ll move onto you and your Majesty next**.”

“ _Or…perhaps…_ ”

“ ** _The human_**.”

Toriel coughed, spitting blood in its face at the suggestion, “Don’t you _dare_!”

It smiled, letting her go. “ _Oh, my dear_ ,” it hummed, stepping around her as darkness cocooned around her, “ **We already have!** ”

Frisk crawled away, whimpering as the thing drew near. _I have to get away_ , they told themselves. _I have to, I have to, I, I—_

“ _Well, well, well_.” The creature bent down, its smile smug as it leveled with them.

“ **We meet again, little human.** ”

“ ** _Tell me—do you remember? Do you remember us?_** ”

Frisk couldn’t respond, heaving breaths. _Do I…remember?_

The creature waited, tilting its head, before it sighed, resting a hand on their leg. “ **Well—that is disappointing. I suppose that means we shall introduce ourselves a second time**.”

“ ** _We are Dr. Gaster_**.”

 

***

 

_Frisk screamed when the creature grabbed them, lifting them from the ground and holding them up so they were eye-to-eye with it. Its hands burned their arms, its skin boiling and sticky._

_“OUR NAME IS DR. GASTER,” it bellowed, its words skewed by static. Its face melted as it spoke, warping and manic._

_“_ YOU HAVE BEEN TOLD LIES. YOU ARE LIVING A LIE _.”_

_“ **WE ARE THE ONE AND ONLY ROYAL SCIENTIST. OUR PURPOSE IS TO SAVE**.”_

_“_ **OUR LIVES WERE STOLEN FROM US** _.”_

_“_ THIS IS NOT WHO WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE _.”_

 _It shook them, and Frisk cried out, squirming in its grasp._ Let me go _, they failed to say,_ let me go!

_“ **YOU HAVE ALL BETRAYED US**.”_

_“_ YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN US, WHEN WE DID SO MUCH FOR YOU _.”_

_“ **WE WILL NEVER FORGIVE ANY OF YOU**.”_

_“_ **WE WILL RETURN. WE WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN. WE WILL NOT BE DISGARDED, AFTER ALL WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH** _.”_

_“ **WE WILL NOT BE LOST. WE WILL NOT BE LEFT TO ROT.** ”_

_“_ NOT THIS TIME _.”_

_Gaster reached forward, hand hovering over the child’s chest._

_“_ BUT UNTIL THEN, MY PURPOSE IS TO _**CONSUME**.” _

_Agony overwhelmed the child, their soul forced from their body. They could do nothing but watch through their tears as the monster drained their soul of its red, their HP dropping by the seconds—_

_33_

_25_

_19_

_11_

_7_

_3…_

_The creature let them go suddenly, allowing them to drop to the floor. Their head bounced against the tiled floor, Frisk seeing stars, crying out in pain._

_When they managed to struggle into a sitting position, rubbing their head, they found themselves alone._

_…They couldn’t remember what they were doing._

 

***

 

The memory came unbidden to them, and yet, at the mention of the creature’s name, Frisk saw it all, yelping when they returned to present day. “I…I…remember…” _I remember…_

Dr. Gaster grinned, nodding. “ _We are impressed_.”

“ **Then, we shall make this quick.** ”

“ ** _See you on the other side, little human!_** ”

Frisk didn’t have enough time to prepare themselves, the rain drowning out their scream as void matter pierced their chest, their soul.

_Shing!_

And in that moment,

everything

went

black.

 

***

 

When the storm cleared, there was no evidence left behind of the doctor’s visit. Everything in the house remained still, silence reigning in every room.

Everyone went along their day, having a vague sense that something wasn’t right…

…but, you can’t worry about things that don’t exist, now, can you?


	5. FAMILY MATTERS, SO WHY DON'T YOU CARE?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which haze: novis is referenced quite obviously and dings is Shook(tm)

“…Hello?”

Wingdings peered around the corner, clinging to the wall, staring down the endless corridor awaiting him. Mindless wandering had landed him there, the time dragging along behind him as the scenery changed, and changed, and changed. He couldn’t remember where he’d been, nor where he was going, considering how disorienting the Void, with places shifting from one place to the next in a blink of an eye.

Dings listened, squinting through the dark, before he continued on, the chipped floorboards creaking underneath his feet.

 _This looks familiar_ , he thought, hands twisting the fabric of his sweater between his fingers. _Still no sign of Aster, though…_

He yelped when he tripped over a loose board jutting out from the rest, catching himself so he didn’t fall face-first into the floor. He gripped his bad leg, blood soaking the makeshift bandage wrapped around it, unable to do more than a limp.

Shadowy figures passed him as he walked, doors towering over him and flickering lights doing little to light his path. He tried going into a few of the rooms, but all of the doors were locked or jammed, leaving him with no option other than forward.

And, considering how little the lamps on the walls did, he couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

 _It’s so_ dark _. I can’t see anything…_

Dings paused.

_…Oh. Wait._

_Snap!_

He snapped his fingers, and in his hands appeared a small ball of red, glowing light, illuminating the rest of the hall in a dim, red glow. The lamps hanging on the walls adopted the small red flares, and the corridor brightened up with the small monster’s magic.

Dings sighed. _Why didn’t I think of that_ earlier _?_

As he continued on, he studied the passing doorways and locked padlocks, his mind reeling. He knew this was somewhere in the labs, though he couldn’t remember which part; the doors were too deformed and the walls too distorted to get a good grasp as to what he was staring at. Still, he tried to enter a room, to leave the hall and find somewhere else to look, but none of them would budge. He was stuck on his linear path, whether he liked it or not.

“This is _ridiculous_ ,” he muttered to himself, brushing dust and cobwebs onto his pants, shifting away from one of many rusted doors. Raising his voice, he faced what laid ahead of him, shouting, “I’m getting _real_ sick of your mind games, you know!”

No response. He almost expected one. Not that it would surprise him, at this point.

 _God, this is all so_ confusing _. None of this is making any sense…_

For a moment, his frustration faltered.

_…I hope Aster’s okay._

Fumbling with his collar, he moved on, his frown twisted in worry as he lost himself in his thoughts.

So lost, in fact, that he failed to notice the figures shifting behind him.

“ _D o c t o r_.”

Wingdings froze, blood draining from his face. _No_.

The voices clipped together in a whispering harmony, a hand clamping down on the scientist’s shoulder as they repeated, “ _Doctor_ …”

Dings didn’t need to turn around to see who they were. He didn’t _need_ to, because he could _feel_ all of their eyes trained onto his back, accusatory, demeaning, topped with an uncanny will to seek revenge.

The kind mistakably deflected onto those you blame for something out of anyone’s control.

Dings ripped himself away from his coworkers’ grasps, letting out a yell as pain shot through his shoulder. When he glanced down at it, he found something sticking out through it, rusted and bloodied.

 _Of_ course _._

Biting down on his tongue, Dings ignored it and ran, followed closely by the shadowy figures.

“ _Where are you going?_ ”

“ _Don’t you want to join us? To **save** us?_ ”

“ _We won’t be left alone again_.”

“ ** _TRAITOR_**.”

Their words pierced through him, tore him down, but Dings refused to slow down, blindly navigating through the dimly-lit hall as one by one the lights flickered out, leaving him in darkness. He didn’t have time to light the way again. Not now with whatever monsters chased behind him.

“ _Doctor_ …”

“ _We never asked for this_ …”

“ _Why did you let this happen? Did you want us to die?_ ”

“ _Do you_ want _us to suffer?_ ”

“Shut _up_!” Dings’s voice was hoarse, shouting above the many voices moaning down the corridor, the ground shaking as they grew closer and closer. Footsteps and hands slammed down on the broken tile, their deformed, static figures moving at inhumane speeds. “Shut up, shut _up_ , _shut up_ —”

 _Creeeee_ -eak!

One of the doors swung open, bathing the hall in light, heat and steam billowing into the hall.

Dings, stumbling, threw himself inside, gripping onto the door handle and slamming to door closed behind him.

The lock clicked into place.

Dings pressed himself against the boiling metal, his legs shaking as he slid down into a sitting position. He listened to the noises outside, his head in his hands and breath barely under control.

For a moment, all he could hear was chatter; a murmur of confusion, and nothing more.

And then, the door bulked, dozens of fists pounding on it as an uproar of voices filled the room.

“ _OPEN THE DOOR_ —”

“ _You can’t escape, you won’t escape, you can’t, you can’t—_ ”

“ _We’ll find you…_ ”

The pounding dwindled and stopped, the voices beginning to fade. Thumping, shaking footsteps stomped down the hall, falling away, away, away.

“ _You can’t hide from us_.”

Dings, still shaking, listened to them go. He didn’t make any indication of moving.

_…I hate this..._

_…I hate this so_ much _…_

_…I’m going to die here, aren’t I?_

And, as the thought crossed his mind, he broke down, his sobs muffled by the palms of his hands. His shoulders shook with the struggle to breathe.

_Why can’t this just stop?_

_…Why can’t_ I _just_ stop _?_

 

***

 

_It’s hot. The air is thick with smoke and steam, a whistle blowing in the distance, everything doused in a constant, fiery glow. The platform he stands on is stifling, the flooring warm. Come next week, it’ll be replaced, as it always is._

_He’s standing in the middle of his and his brother’s own creation._

_The CORE._

_But Wingdings is not himself. He’s too tall, too awkward. His proportion are off, as though he’d been stitched together with misshapen parts. It isn’t until he reaches up to wrap his arms around his middle, too self-conscious to stop himself, that he figures out why he feels so odd._

Another Papyrus memory…?

_He’s dressed in a patchy lab coat with a blurred name tag clamped onto the pocket. He can just make out the words._

_Dr. P._

P? Really?

…Wait—Papyrus is a _doctor_?

_He looks around at the machinery around him, churning concentrated magic underneath, shooting up like the hot, boiling magma in Hotland._

This doesn’t make sense…I thought Dr. Alphys took our place. Why—

 _“Hey,_ dumbass _.”_

_He turns around, curious at first, spotting the other skeleton brother, Sans. He, too, is dressed in a lab coat, holding a clipboard in one hand and a jar in the other. Dings deadpans at the sight of a bright, vibrant soul held captive inside, shivering in its restraints._

_The world tilts._

_Dings is launched from Papyrus’s body, collapsing onto the platform soundlessly. He groans as he sits up, cradling his bandaged leg and staring at the sight in front of him in utter confusion and dread._

_Please,_ let this end well.

_“That was crude.” Papyrus’s voice is a dull drawl, uninterested. He turns back to the churning magic below, gripping onto the railing. “What do you want?”_

_“How’s ’bout an explanation?” Sans crosses his arms over his chest, his glare accusatory as he steps closer. “Thought we agreed it was my turn on playin’ doc, yeah?”_

_“You slept in._ Someone _had to make sure everything was in order here.” Papyrus glances over at him from over his shoulder, his eyelights blank. “Wouldn’t want our plans to fail, now, would we?”_

 _“No, but you could’a had the decency of wakin’ me up! You_ know _I sleep through my alarms!”_

_“I didn’t see a reason to,” Papyrus sighed, standing and shrugging his shoulders. He waved a hand in the air, beginning to walk away. Not interested in the conversation, it seems. “I can run the CORE and the labs just as well as you can. People respect me more than you, anyway—they’ll actually listen to what I tell them to do, unlike yourself.”_

_Sans scoffs, rolling his eyes, stomping right after him. Dings follows, numbly, head hanging as he watches with round, nervous eyes. “Oh, yeah,_ sure _you can. Because_ you _found the missing measurements for the CORE, right?_ You’re _the one that figured out the kinks in that ‘determination’ stuff_ you _extracted from those souls—”_

 _“We don’t_ know _if that’s what it is,” Papyrus interrupts, but Sans keeps going, not finished in the least._

 _“—_ You’re _the one that got us jobs,_ and _a home,_ and _pays the rent. Oh, wait—no, that was all_ me _.” Sans shakes his head. “God, you’re_ so _egotistical, it’s practically dripping off of you.”_

_Papyrus glares at him, but doesn’t respond._

_Sans hesitates, adjusting his hold on the soul container as he spits out his next words with as much venom as he can fathom: “And let’s not mention the fact that,_ technically _,_ I’m _the whole reason you have a career,_ Dings _.”_

 _Wingdings’ eyes widen._ What?

 _But it’s enough. Papyrus’s temper flares, and he stalks back over to the smaller skeleton, lifting him up off the platform. The smaller skeleton drops the soul container in his surprise, but Papyrus catches it with his magic, teleporting it to the Capital. “And_ you’re _the reason why we’re stuck like this in the first place,” Papyrus hisses, shaking Sans for emphasis. Hatred is written clearly on both of their faces for all to see, and Dings is so taken aback by it that he steps back, pressing himself against the railing. “Must say a lot about you to wind us up in this situation, huh,_ brother _?”_

 _“Oh, brother my_ ass _! Like you actually give a shit about me!” Sans pushes against him, but, Papyrus being the stronger of the two, is unsuccessful, dangling limply in his arms. He huffs, narrowing his eyes at the other. “You’re so caught up in covering our—no,_ your _—tracks, and trying to bring us back that you’re barely recognizable! Hell, I can’t even_ call _you my bro anymore, ’cause you act nothin’ like the one I used to know.”_

 _“I s’ppose I could say the same.” Papyrus falls silent, looking his brother up and down before dropping him. He barely gives the other a glance when his skull bounces against the floor, turning his back to him again. “Though then again, you’ve never been much of a brother to begin with. You’ve never been much of_ anything _.”_

 _Dings gasps, hands covering his mouth._ Did…did he—did _I_ —why would he _say_ that?

 _Sans, too, is taken aback, mouth opening up in a rare “oh,” the skeleton setting his jaw. “You…you ungrateful_ bastard _! After everything I’ve done for you, and you still—you_ still _—” He sputters, tearing up, though he rubs at his eyesockets to keep the tears from falling. “God, I should just turn you in now.”_

 _Papyrus whirls around at that, “You wouldn’t_ dare _.”_

 _Sans snorts. “Oh, I_ would _,” he says, bitterly, shoving past the other. Papyrus grabs his wrist, keeping him there, and Sans is forced to turn to face him, meeting his cold, disbelieving stare. “I’ve thought about it a few times, y’know. Hell, just earlier, I could have outed you to the Queen! And_ trust _me, I almost_ did _—”_

 _“You_ what _?”_

 _“Yeah, uh-huh, it_ almost _happened! Had the most opportune moment of my life, a moment to_ tear you down and make you nothing but a useless, forgotten street rat again _…but I didn’t take it. Nope—because, surprise_ surprise _, Dings, I actually give a_ shit _about you! You, your feelings—but_ you _? You don’t care about me. You don’t care about me at_ all _.”_

_Papyrus’s expression twists into something foul, his whole frame shaking, his fists clenched. “You’re going to regret that.”_

_Sans laughs, and even has the gall to stick his tongue out. “Bring it,_ coward _. You won’t even land a hit—”_

CRACK _._

_Dings cries out the moment Papyrus swings his arm, Sans careening into the railing and banging his skull against the railing, which rings loud enough for the whole CORE to hear. Pieces of bone fly and scatter along the platform, some falling into the molten magic below._

_Sans twitches, eyelight sputtering, a fiery ball of blue magic, before falling still. His HP hovers above him:_

_SANS – ATK 1 DEF 1_

_HP .0000001_

Loves his brother.

 _The words appear in bright, bold letters, and Dings whimpers as he reads them._ This can’t be happening _, he thinks,_ this can’t be, it _can’t_ be, _it can’t_ —

_Papyrus stares down at the unconscious body in front of him, blinking._

_Then, he turns his back, teleporting somewhere else._

_“You’re_ not _my brother.”_

_And the CORE melts away, but the memory is locked into Dings’s mind,_

_never to be forgotten again._

 

***

Wingdings awoke with a gasp, clinging to his chest. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his sweater clinging to his body, the air stifling and thick with steam.

Dings found himself sitting on the same platform, though the color remained drained from this place, leaving him in a monochromatic, confused state.

He panted, rubbing tears and sleep from his eyes. His mind was still playing catch-up with his body, the boy looking around in awe, as though it were the first time he’d ever seen the place.

“…Okay…”

He stood, pushing himself up with help from the door, brushing himself off and sniffling. Holding himself around his middle, he took tentative steps, mouth pulled into a frown and eyes focused on the platform underneath him.

“…Okay… _that_ happened…” _And it’s_ never _going to happen again…_

 _“You really…you’re really_ not _gonna say it, are you? ...You’re_ not _serious, bro—”_

_“Come on.”_

_“Dings, seriously, are you_ that _self-centered? It’s just three words!”_

 _“Aster._ Drop _it.”_

 _“I will when you admit that you actually care about someone_ other _than yourself! Bro, c’mon, seriously—just_ say _’em, okay? ‘I love you’—it’s_ not _that hard!”_

The memory came to him, unbidden, into his mind. Dings sniffed, wiping away tears, his voice nothing but a croak as he said, “Love you too, Aster.”

_I’m sorry._

_I’ll find you and make it up to you._

_…I_ promise _._

“…Hm…mm, mm…mm…”

Dings yelped at the sound of humming, shaken out of his train of thought. “What—”

_Ping!_

Little, white shards popped into existence in front of him, glowing brightly despite the red glow beneath him. Lined up in a row, creating a path for him to follow. When they pulsed, the sound of someone humming could be heard, echoing all around him.

The voice sounded awfully familiar.

“…Aster?”

Dings reached forward, touching one of the shards—

_Ping!_

\--absorbing it the moment he did so.

More _pieces of Papyrus’s soul…_ Dings frowned as he glanced down at his fingertips, flexing his fingers. _…Is he leading me somewhere?_

 _…God, this better_ not _be a trap…_

He trudged on, unaware of other occupants joining him in the Void, nor of his brother’s situation. His mind remained focused on the remnants of the CORE, of lost memories and the pang in his soul that pulled him forward, following after his brother’s dying song and the broken shards of a soul that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.

Risking it all for the sake of the one he cared about most.

 

***

 

Hiding away in the darkness, leaning against the railing and staring after the child, Papyrus waited until he disappeared into the next room, expression curious.

Then, he smiled to himself and turned around, humming as he teleported away.

It was only a matter of time now.

All he had to do was wait.


	6. THE TRUTH BEHIND THE SKELETONS' ORIGINS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Aster have a heart-to-heart,  
> and,  
> Aster feels nothing at all.

Everything _hurt_.

That was the first thing Aster became aware of—the pain. It spread like a flame, branching off from his soul and burning at the rest of him. He couldn't bring himself to move. It hurt to even open his eyes, and when he did, his vision proved to be useless, blurred beyond the point of recognizing a single thing.

_Ugh..._

Aster blinked, his head reeling, ears filled with ringing and static. He forced himself up into a sitting position, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees. Anything to fight the urge to fall back asleep...or to throw up, whichever happened first.

_Jus' can't get a break, can you, Aster?_

"H...ey...ki...?" Within the ringing of his ears, Aster could pick out bits and pieces of a voice, speaking in a low, cautious tone. They sounded worried; scared, even. Though from what, Aster wasn't sure.

Groaning, he lifted his head, looking around at the cramped, dirty room. It wasn't much bigger than a closet, the room—if he stretched out, the sole of his shoes would press against the opposite wall. Dim lights gleamed down on him, giving his eyes a momentary mercy instead of giving him a headache. Besides a few cobwebs and shelves, it held mostly empty space.

Two beds, on either side, lined the walls, the mattresses swollen, stained.

Aster sighed. _Well, I'm still in the labs_ , he thought, leaning back on his cot, _which is weird...I don't remember coming here—_

" _Hey_."

Aster flinched, sitting up—coming face-to-face with a familiar, grinning skeleton. _Oh, no..._

Though the boy had been caught off guard, Sans was not. Leaning back, he crossed his arms behind his head, his smile empty, practiced. His eyelights weighed down with bags, and his shoulders tense, he didn't look relaxed in the least.

"Hey, it's alive," he chuckled, offering a half-hearted wave. It wasn't until the skeleton had moved that Aster noticed his jacket was missing, exposing the sweater beneath. "You were startin' to worry me, y'know? I mean, with the state you were in, I was kinda worried that— _hhuup_ —"

Aster kicked him, aiming for his knee. He missed, though he supposed the skeleton's crotch would send a clear message, too.

" _Aaaaaaooooww_...."

" _What are you doing here?_ " Aster scrambled away from the other, pressing himself against the wall as Sans crumbled in on himself, wheezing, in no state to respond. When he didn't receive a reply, Aster puffed up, glaring. "Stay _away_ from me, you prick!"

Sans took a minute to respond, pushing away from the child to keep out of his reach. "...F-First of all," he sputtered out, pointing at the other, "that _fucking_ hurt."

"So did bein' stabbed."

Sans scowled, but continued, shifting nervously in his seat. "That wasn't me, but okay." He paused. "...I, uh, just wanted to talk. About things."

"Talk as in talk?" Aster asked, leaning forward. "Or talk as in 'you make me feel like utter trash before trying to kill me?' 'Cause lemme tell you, I'm not in the mood for—"

"Boy, you sure are hard of hearin', huh?"

Aster balked. His face tinted red, his hands balling up into fists as he all but shouted, "Ex _-cuse_ me? _I'm_ not the one that's been chasing _you_ around trying to steal your soul, when it's not even yours to begin with! What kind of _nerve_ —"

Sans groaned, breaking the other off mid-sentence, "Alright, _alright_. I get it. We're gettin' off on the wrong foot—let's just, start over." Sans rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. After a moment, he sighed. "Look, I—I'm just as lost as you are, alright? As far as _I_ know, I was at a party with my family, celebratin' a pretty important milestone in monster history, until you and your bro showed up and started _meddlin'_." He hissed out the last word, and Aster flinched, frowning. Sans hesitated, his expression softening as he leaned forward, fiddling with a loose stitch on the bed, that seed of worry showing on his face. "And now, I'm _here_ , and Papyrus is _God_ knows where. And all I've got for a lead as to how the _hell_ any of this is even happening is that _you_ did something."

Aster perked up at the accusation, narrowing his eyes. He crossed his arms. _So much for getting on the right foot._ "What do you mean, _I_ did something?" He asked. "I'm not enjoying this any more than you are, if you couldn't tell."

"I don't mean _you_ as in the you sittin' in front of me, buddy," Sans said.

Aster blinked. "...What do you mean?"

"...You mean you don't know?" Sans looked startled at the realization, eyelights disappearing for a moment.

"Don't know _what_?" _The hell is he going on about now?_

"...Welp." Sans fumbled with his hands, adverting his gaze. "I mean, I was kinda assumin', y'know, with you bein' a scientist and all that it'd be pretty clear, but—"

"Will you just _spit it out_ already—"

Sans rushed forward, clamping a hand over Aster's mouth. The smaller had half the mind to kick him again, but at the skeleton's steely glare, he decided against it.

Sans put a finger up to his mouth, voice stern. " _Don't_ yell."

Aster hesitated, searching the skeleton's eyes for a reason why, before nodding.

Sans let him go, leaning back. His gaze remained fixed on the boy, and Aster leaned forward, attentive. "You know how there's, y'know, memories and stuff lyin' around, right?" Sans asked, hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. When Aster nodded, he went on, his voice shaking slightly. "Well, it turns out the stuff here—'s all fragmented. It's like...like your brain's been divided up and thrown around, I guess."

Aster made a face, "Okay...?" _Where is this going?_

"Well, like the memories, that's kind of how it is with the _people_ here, too. Pieces of them just scatter about, and it's hard to find 'em all again and put 'em back together. Y'know?"

Silence. Aster's eyes widened, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. _Oh. Oh,_ shit. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Sans scratched at his chin. "'S weird, I know. I'm still wrapping my head around all this..." He met the boy's gaze then, the room growing cold. "Which is why I wanna talk."

Aster glanced around, wrapping his arms around himself. He jumped at the feeling of something soft underneath his fingertips, and when he looked down he had to fight against the urge to do a doubletake. _He gave me his coat...?_ "About what?" He asked finally, shifting. "I don't...I don't really know what's going on, obviously. In fact, it sounds like _you_ know more about what's happening than _I_ do, so maybe you should be telling me stuff, _not_ the other way around."

"...Mhm." Sans paused, looking the other up and down, before he glanced up at the ceiling, expression flat. "Then how's about a deal: you tell me why you _really_ created me an' my bro, and I'll tell you all I know about this place."

Aster scoffed. "Seriously? You want to know that?" He said. "It's pretty simple, really. Asgore wanted weapons, somethin' that could break the barrier, so—"

Sans laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" Aster barred his teeth, leaning forward. "This isn't a joke!"

"Oh, yeah it is." Sans looked smug, his smile reaching no bounds. Then, it fell away, and his eyelights showed nothing but a blank, expressionless stare. "Now that we've gotten the cover story outta the way...tell me what we were really made for, will you?"

Aster winced. He bit his lip, shrinking away. "I...but I _am_ , I-I mean—do you really wanna know this? It's...it's not like it _matters_ , or anything, I mean, it was just—"

"Oh, but it does. You _know_ it does, and that's why you're starting to get all nervous and sweaty."

Aster clamped his mouth shut.

"Yeah. I thought so." Sans hummed, grinning wide. "Well? I'm waiting."

Aster rubbed at his arms, shifting away. He didn't meet the other's eyes. "...Do you _really_ want to know?" He murmured, grip tightening on his sleeves. "It's pretty confidential, y'know."

"My _existence_ shouldn't be confidential," Sans snapped. " _Especially_ to me. Now—spill."

Aster waited, still avoiding the skeleton's eyes. Then, he sighed, his shoulders slackening. "Alright," he muttered, " _alright_. Fine, just—don't be mad, okay?"

Sans shrugged, as if to say, "I'll be the judge of that."

Aster sighed, bracing himself. _Well, shit, I didn't think I'd be doin'_ this _today..._ "...We—well..." He groaned. "You—we needed a way to...to test something."

"What was this 'something'?" Sans's eyesockets rounded out, almost as though he were raising his eyebrows. _He's pretty expressive for a skeleton._

Aster shrugged. "We weren't sure. It was like...another world, but not. Like—like another layer of reality, I guess? And we wanted to test it. To see if..." He deflated, mumbling his last words, "...to see what would happen, if...if we sent a couple of dummies into it."

Sans waited, letting the information settle between them. "You mean me and my bro."

"...Yeah."

"And you wanted us to be alive... _why_?"

Aster looked up at him. "...Live specimen would tell us a lot more than dead ones do."

Silence fell on the room, Aster curling in on himself. Shame bounced off of him in waves, his shoulder shaking. _Now that I think about it,_ he thought, _we never_ did _say it out loud before..._

_...Guess stuff like this always sounds better on paper, though._

Sans, too, shook, though for another reason entirely. Finally, he broke the silence, his teeth clenched together as he spoke. "...Okay."

Aster blinked. He sat up straight, breath caught in his throat, confusion written all over his face. "Okay?" he repeated. "What do you mean, okay—"

"I mean 'okay,' kid." Sans shrugged, his smile bitter. "I'unno what I expected, really. I knew it was gonna be somethin' dirty, but...wow. Guess I'm nothing but a lab rat. Neat."

"I...I didn't mean it like that—"

"I know, kid." Sans's voice came off as calm, sincere. Understanding. "Honestly, I'm just glad you were honest. And, hey—it's why I'm here now. It's why I have Pap, and that's a miracle all on it's own...so, uh, thanks. I guess."

Aster didn't know what to say to that. He gripped the front of his shirt, twisting and tugging, his thoughts spiraling down, down, down. His eyes welled up with tears.

Sans looked at him wearily, frowning. "Uh...are you okay? You look like you're gonna— _ack_."

He was caught off guard when the small boy hugged him, his grip tight enough to knock the breath out of him. The touch itself proved to be uncomfortable and painful; both of them could feel their bodies prickle and sting where they made contact. Sans went to push the kid away, trying to keep from causing any harm, but Aster stayed put, clinging to his front.

Aster rested his cheek on the skeleton's shoulder, sniffling. "...Thank you."

Sans flexed his fingers, utterly lost on what to do. His face clouded with confusing, wondering what on Earth the ex-scientist would be thanking for—but then he understood. Both twins had put morale aside to create living, breathing beings, knowing full well that they would be throwing them face-first into what could've very well have been their doom. They had settled with the fact that they would be murdering the skeletons, the moment they showed signs of life.

That kind of act...it was damning. _Unforgivable_.

And yet...Sans _had_ forgiven him, in a way. And that meant more to Aster than Sans could ever imagine.

Sans snorted, wrapping his arms around the child, ignoring the tingling in his bones. "You're welcome, ki—"

_Shing!_

Aster fell back, yelping, knocked away from the skeleton. He bounced once on the bed, grunting, climbing back up on his feet, glancing over to the skeleton. _What—_

He froze.

Sans hovered above the ground, motionless, mouth agape in pain and horror. Black dribbled down his chin, his sweater splattered with black and red, his ribcage torn open and completely exposed.

"K...ki...ru...n..."

The knife protruding from his chest ripped away, the skeleton collapsing into a heap of dust on the ground. His soul stuttered for a moment, hovering in the air, before a pale hand reached forward, wrapping around it.

Aster stood, frozen in place, watching as the human child in front of him caressed it, cooing gently to it.

"Aww...I didn't think you'd break so soon!" They giggled, their smile all too wide, too manic. "I remember you being a lot more fun, Sans!"

 _CRACK_.

They clenched their fingers around it, shattering it to pieces. Shards flew and scattered, lost in the darkness.

Aster gasped, stepping back into the back wall, shaking. _I have to get out of here...where do I go, where do I_ go _...?_ He looked around for an exit, but he found there to be none. He was alone, trapped. With nowhere else to go.

The human brushed their hand on their jeans, humming as they rocked on their heels. They turned to them, knife in hand, smiling a sickly-sweet grin, their red irises holding a soft, eerie glow to them. "Oh, I almost forgot about our little package! Don't worry, I don't bite—I only wanna play..."

Aster's mouth moved, though no sound came, a wordless cry escaping as his knees began to cave. "C...Cha...Chara...?"

Chara giggled, twirling the knife in their hands. "Aw, Gaster, you remember me! Why, that's so sweet of you—"

Their eyes disappeared, replaced with a black, thick goo, their smile demented.

" **ESPECIALLY AFTER YOU KILLED ME _._** "

They stepped closer, knife raised above their head. Aster found himself unable to move, eyes locked with theirs; his full of terror, and theirs, determination to strike him down.

They stopped in front of him, their laughter filling the room as they towered over him, weapon raised at the ready,

" **STAND STILL, NOW, GASTER—THE DOCTOR WILL SEE YOU NOW!** "

They swung down—

" _No_!"

Aster ducked underneath their arm, running to the other side of the room, stumbling over himself in the process. He reached forward, unsure of where to go from there, meeting nothing but brick—

" **OH, _GASTER_ —**"

_Shing!_

" _Ack_ —"

Aster fell forward, his back screaming out in pain. His face smacked against the floor, seeing double, his vision blurring. He struggled to move, clawing at the floor, grunting as he tried to pull himself up—

A foot stomped down on his back, stopping him short.

He screamed.

" _My, my..._ "

" **Now, that's a sound I haven't heard in a long time**."

" ** _It's refreshing_**."

Aster coughed, dry heaving. He peered up at the blurry, melted face above him, picking out the oddest of smiles. The figure looked familiar, but not, as though he'd seen it in a dream.

It's smiling face was joined with Chara's, who stood next to it proudly, humming. "I found him, Doctor!" They cooed, rocking on their heels. "I found them both, just like you told me to! Now, can I go find my little friend and say hello, now? Pretty please?"

The Doctor acknowledged them briefly, waving a hand in the air. " **Please** ," it said.

" ** _Do as you want_**."

" _Just stay out of our way, won't you, child?_ "

"Of course I will!" The child hummed, drawing and X on their chest. "I swear, I'll be good— **ha**!"

" **Very well**."

" ** _Now, leave us alone_**."

" ** _We are very, very busy_**."

Chara nodded, turning away from Aster and the Doctor—having the nerve to wave at the injured boy—before vanishing from sight.

Dr. Gaster hummed, kneeling down and smiling at the boy with distorted, playful features, its smiling widening when Aster struggled to get away. " ** _You are holding up quite well_**."

" **I must admit, I expected you to die sooner than this**."

" ** _Though, that little conversation you had with the skeleton just now—that was unnecessary, and quite meddlesome. We'll have to watch you more closely if you're going to pull stunts like that..._** "

It ran a finger down the boy's back, summoning his soul.

_Ping!_

"Ah."

" _Still intact. So it was a good idea to switch you out, after all. It's much stronger than it was before..._ "

" **Not for long, of course. The skeletons are wearing out...and we can only hold this form for so long, before...** "

" ** _...No matter._** "

" ** _Yours will suffice quite nicely_**."

_What...?_

_Shing!_

Aster choked, feeling for the second time in a few short hours what it was like to be stabbed straight through his soul. He tensed, attempting to pull away from the doctor, but all strength was sapped out of his body the moment the doctor pulled his soul from him and shoved it into its chest.

The moment it did, its form stabilized, revealing a stiffly-stern monster in a lab coat. It smiled down at him, lopsided, the very sight of it shaking him to the very core.

_N...no way..._

" **It was a pleasure to see you again, Aster**."

" _But don't worry—this is one of many visits_."

" ** _There are plenty more of you to go around, after all._** "

It disappeared, leaving Aster alone, his vision growing dark.

Everything hurt. Spinning round and round, growing darker and darker...

Everything hurt.

Everything hurt.

Everything _hurt_.

Until Aster felt nothing at all. 


	7. MOTHER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wingdings has a bad time and there's a lot of plot that happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicide

Wingdings had no idea of his brother’s capture, nor of Sans’s passing. He remained unaware of the first human’s presence in the Void, of the Doctor and its plans, of his friends locked away somewhere in his depths.

Alone, he stayed oblivious, and alone, he didn’t seem to mind.

_Ping!_

He stopped, grabbing hold of the last of Papyrus’s soul, the final piece melting into his hands. After so much wandering, it was nice to finally put an end to the whole thing—unscathed, at that.

“Finally…” Dings sighed, looking around. He’d walked all the way back to the outskirts of the RUINS, led there by the remnants of the skeleton’s soul. Having trekked through flickering bits and pieces of Waterfall and Snowdin, he reached the forgotten, lonely town made up of stowaways and misfits, lost as to what to do next.

…But only for a moment, given what house he stood in front of.

_This is…_

He limped forward, fumbling with his hands, eyes searching the static, empty windows, the slanted roof, the cracked door with a broken hinge. The porch light glowed an ominous white, shining down on him from the bottom step.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t, too caught up in his shock.

 _I haven’t been here in years…_ His fingers shaking, palms sweaty, he grabbed onto the railing, pulling himself up. He paused now and then, mindful of his injured leg, making a slow climb up the steps.

_I wonder how Papyrus had memories of this place?_

“Hm…mm, mm…mmm…hmm…”

Humming sounded from behind the door, a soft, repetitive song that Dings could never really forget, the sound making him stop at the top of the stairs. He hesitated, gripping the front of his shirt, frowning to himself.

“…Aster?” He called, stepping closer to the windows, peering in. Nothing but static. “Aster, are you there?”

No response, besides the ever-present humming.

He waited, hands pressed against the glass, before he sighed, stepping back. He leveled his expression, his face slipping into a mask of indifference despite his growing unease. _Just relax_ , he told himself. _It’ll be fine. It’s fine. Why_ wouldn’t _it be?_

Steadying his breath, he walked up to the door, and, for the first time in decades, entered his childhood home.

What greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

“…Hey, sit still! I’m not done.”

“Why don’t you tell Aster to sit still? You’re fixing _him_ up, too, but you’re not making _him_ sit down!”

Wingdings stared, wide-eyed, at his mother, sitting on a beaten-up, old couch brought in from Waterfall. A younger version of him sat at her feet, fussing as she smooths a bandage on the back of his head, a fresh gash present—no doubt from another fight with his brother. Aster runs around them both, illuminated in purple magic, squealing from the top of his lungs.

His mother sighed, shaking her head. She smiled, though, patting his head as she told him, “Wingdings, _please_. Do as your mother says.”

“But it’s not fair!” Young Wingdings snapped, gesturing to the other twin, who paused briefly to see what all the fuss was about. “You always treat him like he’s better than me! Like…like he’s _special_.” He crossed his arms. “He can sit just as much as I can.”

“But I don’t _want_ to sit down!” Aster whined.

“Well, neither do I!”

“ _Boys_.”

They both flinched. Aster grumbled something, frowning, tugging at his sleeves. Wingdings stayed silent.

“…Yes,” his mother responded, “I will admit, it is quite unfair. However, you can handle sitting more than your brother can. He’s just too, ah…boundless for that. Besides, he can scream louder than you. _And_ hit harder. And if I make him sit down, who _knows_ who’ll be dealing with that?”

Wingdings narrowed his eyes at her, sticking his tongue out. Still, he knew he’d been beat, and he didn’t respond, settling to glare instead.

“I thought so. Now, sit.” She turned his head back around, looking over his skull. She hummed under her breath as she did, her hands alight with magic as she worked on healing them both simultaneously.

Aster returned to his chase, running around them and humming along to his mother’s song.

“Hey, Mom?” Wingdings spoke up, messing with his pants.

“Yes, dear?”

“What song are you humming?”

For a moment, his mother’s movements paused. Wingdings could see her fingers shake, still standing in the doorway—a stranger in an otherwise familiar memory.

“…Why do you ask?” She asked, her voice low. Careful.

Wingdings huffed, leaning forward. “Well,” he started, gesturing with his hands, “you sing it a lot, but you never talk about what it’s about. You said once that…that it had something to do with the war, right?” He turned to her then, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Is that what it’s about?”

“’Dings, that’s dumb.” Aster leaned against the back of the couch, frowning at the other, who glared in response. “Why would Mom be singing us war songs? We’re not going to war! Err, umm…not yet, anyway.” He rubbed his arm. “Not like we’re getting out anytime soon, anyway…”

“Boys, _please_ ,” their mother laughed, shaking her head. “I promise, it’s not about the war. I wouldn’t think of reminding myself of…all of _that_ so often. Your father would worry!”

“Then what _is_ it about?” Wingdings asked. He shrugged, waving a hand in the air, “I mean, if it’s not about _that_ , then what’re you humming about all the time?”

Their mother paused, her smile fading. She tapped a finger on her chin, her eyes hardening, deep in thought. “…Well,” she said finally, eyes glazing over as she stared at the wall, “I suppose it’s about…hope.”

“Hope?” The boys echoed, leaning closer.

She nodded. “My father taught it to me when I was a young girl. It helps keep you from…well. You’ll learn about that when you’re older, but—from my understanding, the story is about someone who comes along and fixes things, and bridges the gap between humans and monsters.”

Dings made a face at that. “Ew.”

“Why would they wanna do that?” Aster grumbled, chin in his hands. “Humans are icky.”

“They are _not_ icky,” she corrected them, giving them both a warning look. They both turned away, their side comments falling flat. “…There are just—misunderstandings, I suppose. Between our races. And…and I hope, one day, that they’ll be sorted out and we’ll all be friends again.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around Wingdings, who flailed, unable to squirm away in time. “It would be nice for you to play with humans. They’re very kind, some of them. Only a few are truly horrendous…”

“You mean like the ones that locked us down here?” Wingdings stated, glancing up at her.

She nodded, her smile tinged with sadness. “Yes. Like the ones that trapped us underground.”

“Did you have any human friends, Mom?” Aster spoke up, standing on his toes.

Their mother didn’t meet their eyes, humming, glancing up at the ceiling. “A few. Though, I suppose I can’t call them ‘friends’ anymore, now, can I? Not with…all of this.” She shook her head, rubbing at her eyes. She always did look tired. “How about you boys go run off and play? Your mother needs time to think.”

Wingdings and Aster exchange a glance. “But—”

There was the Look again. “I suggest you go off and play.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

The two boys ran off, heads ducked as they rushed out of the house, pushing and shoving the whole way.

Wingdings swayed in the doorway, eyes locked on the image of his mother, who’s eyes filled with tears, hands shaking as they smoothed out her worn, old hoodie. She looked close to breaking down.

_Mom…_

His fingers twitched at his sides, the boy swallowing down his fears. He stepped forward, having half the mind to comfort her.

But, the moment he stepped forward, she looked up, startled.

“Who’s there?”

She stood, and as she did, the scene changed. His house fell away, leaving behind murky darkness and the whispering, dull wind outside. Wingdings winced and stepped back, unable to meet the stunned, confused gaze of his mother.

Who, too, had changed, her clothes torn and battered and neck unbelievably twisted.

Wingdings didn’t look.

He couldn’t.

“… _Wingdings_?”

Her voice, stabbing through his chest like a knife, came out in a distorted whisper. But it came nonetheless, shaking him to the core, the boy’s words caught in his throat.

_How are you here?_

_Why are you here?_

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you._

_I’m sorry I’m a disappointment._

Wingdings bowed his head, his whole body wracked with his shaking. He couldn’t breathe.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

She heard none of this, of course. Instead, his mother watched him as his shaking grew worse and worse, outstretching her hand.

“Where did you come from?” She asked, her hand brushing against his cheek. It felt off; leathery, almost. Stiff. “I thought I told you to go outside…”

 _You_ did.

“Why didn’t you listen to me? Aren’t you…aren’t you a good boy?” Her voice began to change. Instead of the curious, quiet, loving tone she held, it transformed into something darker, more disfigured. She raised her voice, her jaw set. “ _Why_ are you disobeying me?”

Wingdings took a step back from her, pressing into an invisible wall. He made a noise, almost like a whine, unable to speak. It felt as though hands had clamped over his mouth, keeping him mute. Always keeping him from saying what he wanted to say.

_I’m sorry._

_I didn’t mean to._

_Please don’t be mad._

“…Oh.” Mother broke off into a laugh, pulling away from him. “I see what this is. Your father put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Wingdings glanced up when she walked backwards, his eyes stopping just below her neck. _I don’t wanna see it. I don’t wanna see._

“My, he sure loves his pranks, doesn’t he?” She said, humming. Her hands fall to her sides, and her calm, pleasant demeanor returns. She giggled. “Well, you don’t have to fool me anymore, Wingdings. I asked you to do something, didn’t I? And you’re supposed to do as your mother says, correct?”

He nodded. He was too afraid to say “no.”

“Of course!” Turning her back to him, she gestures around them, saying, “so, go on! Go off and play. Mother will be here when you come back.”

Wingdings swallowed past a lump in his throat, looking at the back of that damned blue hoodie. _God, I wish she’d just get rid of that thing already._

“…Wingdings? I don’t hear you leaving.”

_…Okay._

He shuffled past her, tensing as he does so.

He expected to be grabbed, to be screamed at, blamed—not because she’s his mother, or because she’s done it in the past. Because she _hasn’t_. She’d never hurt him before, would never dream of it. She didn’t have a single bad bone in her body, so…why…?

And then he realized, it wasn’t his mother he was afraid of.

…But of this horrid place he’s found himself in, reminding him of things he’d rather forget.

But, as he stepped around her, he was left untouched.

Instead, he found himself mercifully left in the garden, in the backyard of his home.

He sat among the flowers, touching the soft, delicate petals absently, eyes dull.

He refused to let his aching chest swell.

 _I’m fine_ , he told himself, closing his eyes. _This is fine. I can handle this._

_Everything is alright._

“This is _stupid_.”

His eyes flew open, Wingdings staring at he and his twin once more. They huddled in the garden this time, whispering back and forth to each other, lost in their own little world.

Aster looked over to his younger variant, his head tilted. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought you liked playing Monsters and Humans?”

“I _used_ to,” Wingdings muttered, throwing his arms in the air, “when you didn’t make me be the human every time we played it.”

Aster’s mouth fell into an “oh,” the boy looking away. “Well…you can be the monster next time, then!” He smiled then, clearing his throat. “‘Human, you shall not go any further! Your presence here is a crime—I must bring you to the capital.’”

Dings rolled his eyes, giving his brother a “really?” look. “…Oh, no,” he drawled, shuffling back and forth in the dirt, holding his arms out, “I can’t believe I’m being arrested. Monsters sure are strong—I’m way too scared to even fight back.”

“You bet you are! Now, c’mon—” Aster smacked his arms playfully, bouncing up and down. “Fight me!”

Wingdings groaned. He stomped his foot, snapping, “This is dumb! I don’t wanna play anymore.”

“Aw, come on! I was having fun—”

“Yeah, _you_ were! _I’m_ not!” Wingdings glared at the ground, his words cutting through the air. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes watering. “…You _always_ have all the fun.”

Aster flinched, stepping back. He stared at him, hugging himself around his waist. “…I’m…I’m sorry…,” he sputtered, looking around. “We can—we can play something else, if you want.”

Wingdings sighed, shaking his head. He dropped his arms. “Whatever.” He looked around, frowning. He studied their surroundings for a minute, genuinely wondering what they could do, being shut out of the house.

His eyes fell on the shimmering wall just before the mountain’s frame, glimmering in the sunlight.

The barrier.

A plus to living on the edge of the RUINS—you got to see the barrier in action.

Young Wingdings grinned to himself, awfully smug as he turned to the other, gesturing to it with his head. “I bet you can walk through that,” he said.

Dings tensed, his eyes widening.

_Oh, no._

_Not this._ Anything _but_ this _…_

Aster followed his gaze. He shifted, his nerves showing in the way he ran his hands down his sides. “Ahh…I-I dunno, Dings,” he replied, looking the other in the eye. “Mom and Dad say it’s dangerous to get near the barrier…”

“Oh, come on, Aster,” Wingdings chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re a strong monster, right? You’ve got more HP than me. Mom and Dad praise you _all_ the time, saying how much stronger you are than me.” He hissed out the words, his magic flaring up at his fingertips. His brother flinched—which was exactly what he wanted. “I mean, what _can’t_ you handle, right?”

Aster hesitated, looking between him and the barrier, shivering. Then, his gaze hardening, he nodded, standing up straighter and clicking his heels together. _Doofus_. “Alright! I can do it.”

“Good!” Wingdings hummed, glancing over to the barrier. “Then, _do_ it.”

Aster opened his mouth to speak, as if to protest, but after just agreeing he found it to be futile.

Wingdings stood from his spot in the flower patch, his adrenaline pulsing throughout him as he watched his twin brother stalk over to the barrier, head held high despite the tremors in his step.

He rushed forward, reaching for him, “ _Stop_!”

His hand fell on his arm—

\--and fell through.

Wingdings yelped as he tripped and fell onto the ground, shoulder crashing onto the ground. He grunted, rolling onto his back, his breaths coming out in puffs. _I can’t stop it_ , he realized. He forced himself to sit up, his shoulder aching. He rubbed it, though it did little to make the pain go away.

It did little to make him feel any better as Aster stopped in front of the barrier, shaking in his shoes.

_I can’t stop any of this._

“Well?” his younger self said, hands on his hips. “Are you going to do it, or are you chickening out on me? ’Cause if so, I’m just going around front and taking a walk without you sulking behind me.”

Aster shot him a glare over his shoulder, “Don’t be an ass about it!”

Wingdings’s eyes blew wide. “Well, now you _better_ do it, or else I’m gonna tell Mom you swore!”

Aster grumbled something under his breath.

“ _What_?”

“Nothing—ugh, world’s above, you’re _annoying_ —”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I said I’m _going_ , alright?”

Wingdings walked over then, arms behind his back. He stopped next to other, smiling. “Oh, yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer. “Doesn’t look like it.”

Aster looked him up and down, frowning and shoving him away. Then, he rubbed his hands together, eyes edged with doubt.

“Okay,” he mumbled to himself, “I can do this. I can _do_ this.”

And, he stepped forward.

 _No_ , don’t—

Wingdings reached out just as Aster stepped into the barrier, a bright light emitting from it before blasting him and his younger self back, a scream echoing in the Void as his brother was overcome with pain.

Wingdings, crumbled on the ground, struggled to blink away his blurred vision, staring at the frozen image of his brother. “Ugh…what…?”

Then, when his head cleared, he gasped, jumping onto his feet. “Aster!”

He rushed over, but when he saw the state Aster was in he stopped, just short of where the other stood. His brother’s form stuck to the barrier, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth open in a silent scream. The barrier hissed and popped, eating his brother alive, tearing him apart.

Wingdings backed away, whimpering, hands over his mouth. “I…I…”

“ _Aster_!”

His parents rushed over, and from the sidelines Wingdings watched as they grabbed onto the boy together, pulling on his clothing. The barrier kept its hold, refusing to let go.

“Aster, hold on,” his father ground out, his teeth clenched together as he pulled, a vein pulsing visibly in his neck. “We’ll get you out…just hold on, just hold on…”

“Aster, oh my God—my poor baby, I—you’ll be okay, just— _hupp_ —”

Young Wingdings flinched away when his parents fell back, his brother held in their arms, dust sprinkling on the grass. So much dust. So much blood.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

His brother wasn’t moving. Wasn’t _breathing_.

His mother pulled him into her arms, fretting over him, her hands glowing with bright green magic as she healed him, sobbing over and over, “You can’t die, you can’t die, you won’t, you _won’t_ —”

His father climbed up to his feet, out of breath. He brushed himself off, giving his wife and child a passing glance, looking vaguely worried before turning to Wingdings. His face contorted into one of anger. “ _What did you do?_ ”

Wingdings winced. “I—I—”

He screamed when his father picked him up by his collar, lifting him up.

“Why didn’t you help him?” His father shouted, pointing at the motionless boy in the grass. “Why didn’t you get us? The hell is _wrong_ with you, boy—”

“Webdings, leaving him alone!” Mother yelled, pulling Aster closer to her chest. “He’s…he’s scared—”

“Ebrima, stay _out_ of this!” Webdings whipped around, eyes flaring up in warning. His gaze softened slightly at the sight of Aster, drool dripping down his cheek. “…Just…heal the boy.”

Ebrima whimpered, sniffling, looking at Wingdings with an odd, almost pained glance. She returned to her handiwork, whispering reassurances under her breath.

Webdings turned back to the twin still held in his hands, expression hardening. “I don’t care _what_ just happened,” he hissed, “but it better _not_ happen again. And I swear, if this happened over one of your little squabbles? You’re going to seriously regret letting your little emotional outbursts _kill_ your brother.”

Wingdings shook, sniffling, his words incoherent sobs, the boy babbling uselessly in his father’s grasp. He couldn’t respond. His father dropped him, and he crumbled on the ground, curling up in a ball.

“Come on.” Father took his mother by the arm, gentle and calming, pulling her to her feet. Ebrima kept a firm hold on her son, cradling him to his chest. “Let’s take him inside.”

Ebrima nodded, her gaze lingering on Wingdings. He couldn’t see it, but he felt it bore into the back of his head, confused and so, so hurt. “…Don’t take too long to come inside. Okay, Wingdings?” Though hoarse, her voice still clung to some shred of kindness, sparing him from the hell his father had put him through—and would put him through in the following days.

Wingdings didn’t respond, staring at his hands.

_Click!_

He heard the back door close, leaving him alone.

And he cried.

Wingdings watched, his arms wrapped around himself, eyes itchy and red. He rubbed them, sniffling. _Don’t cry_ , he told himself, _don’t cry. Don’t let it get to you._

Never _let it get to you._

_Click! Creeeak…_

He turned on his heels, in the direction of the backdoor. It hung open for him, inviting him in, offering more to him than the boy sobbing on the ground, among his brother’s blood and dust.

He took the opening, his head hanging in shame.

 _I’m just one huge train wreck, huh?_ He wondered, stepping inside.

He decided that yes, he was—but it’s not like he could really change that.

_Not now._

 

***

_There are many things he doesn’t understand. Things he never will._

_This is one of those things._

_“Mom and Dad fought again,” one twin says, leaning back into the porch swing, staring out into the street. Not many people are outside, but that’s fine by him. Not like he’d talk to anyone else, anyway—not with his brother around. “I don’t know what about, but…they seemed really mad at each other.”_

_Papyrus’s eyelights flicker to watch the other twin, who grunts in response, shrugging. Indifferent. “Does that_ really _surprise you?” Wingdings asks, his tone falling flat._

_“Kind of. They were really mean about it this time…Dad almost—he—” Aster turns away. Clears his throat. “…Mom locked herself in her room.”_

_Wingdings sighs. “…Hope she’s okay.”_

_“I think so? I mean, I’unno—she was crying and stuff, but…she was singing that song she taught us a while ago. That’s a plus, right?”_

_Dings glares at his hands. Papyrus wonders what he’s thinking about. “…Aster,” he murmurs, “can you…can you promise me something?”_

_Aster pauses, looking at him, his eyes searching. He smiles. “Yeah. What?”_

_The other bites his lip. Papyrus’s hands shake. He’s not sure why. “Remember…remember when Mom told us about the humans?”_

_“What_ about _the humans?” Aster mumbles. He leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the seat._

 _“About peace.” Wingdings voice drops to a whisper, hanging his head when he adds, “about…about going_ home _.”_

_Aster blinks. He shrinks back, “Yeah…?”_

_“Promise me we’ll do that for her.”_

_Papyrus stiffens. His chest churns, his mind clouded. His unease makes his hands shake._ Where…where is this going?

 _Aster whips around, “_ What _?”_

 _Wingdings sways back and forth on the seat, making it swing back and forth, back and forth. He’s strangely pale. And…crying? “You’re not the only one who hears them talking back and forth, Aster,” he croaks, his breaths shaky. He steadies himself, continuing. “If I’m being honest, I…I feel like_ we’re _the reason they fight. It’s always, ‘did you hear what they did?’ ‘Why’d you let them do_ this _?’ ‘Why did so-and-so say that they did_ that _?’ It’s…_ exhausting _. Like no matter_ what _we do, we still mess up. It’s unfair.”_

_Aster frowns, tilting his head. “Okay…what’s that got to do with the other thing?”_

_Dings pauses. “Because when it’s_ not _about us, it’s about the surface. Or the war—take your pick.”_

_The other twin deflates. “Oh.”_

_“Yeah. ‘Oh.’” Wingdings stops long enough to rub his eyes. “Mom’s always talking about wanting to see her human friends again, and—and I don’t know, maybe if we helped her out with that and found a way to free everyone, then maybe—maybe things wouldn’t be so bad? She’d be happier, and Dad wouldn’t freak out all the time because he’s afraid that she’ll…she’ll—die._

_He stares at his shoes. “And if they’re happy, then they’ll stop getting mad at us, right? So if we make them happy, and work together, then…then we can stop hating each other and fighting all the time. And things’ll be good…” He turns to the other twin, leaning against the back of the swing. “…Right?”_

_Papyrus glances over to Aster, who’s silent, sitting as still as stone._

_“…R-Right!” he jumps up, suddenly filled with energy. “Yeah, that makes sense! I mean, I don’t know how, but…but everyone says we’re pretty smart, so we can always figure that out later, and stuff. And—and everyone’ll think better than us than a couple’a no-good troublemakers.” He chuckles, though the laughter is void of any humor. Aster pulls the other up to his feet then, Wingdings yelping as he’s swung around. “Yeah, okay—you got yourself a promise, bro! Just promise me something, too, okay?”_

_“What…?” Wingdings struggles to keep his head on straight, dizzy from spinning around and around._

_Aster drops his voice, and Papyrus has to lean in just to hear him._

_“Promise me you’ll try to be happy up there, okay?”_

_Wingdings startles, “B-But I_ am _ha—”_

 _“I mean_ actually _happy, Dingus. Don’t lie to me—I know you’re just one big glumfest!” Aster rolls his eyes, giggling, pulling the other into a hug. And then a headlock. “I mean, I could always beat the happy outta ya, if that’s what it’ll take!”_

 _“What, no,_ don’t _—”_

_Wingdings breaks off into a squeal when his brother tackles him to the ground, pinning him against himself and the wood. He tries to kick him off, but Aster blocks him and has the nerve to start tickling him._

_He shrieks._

_“Aster, stop! S-Stop, stop—that ti-tickles-s! That—” He breaks off into a jumbled mess, laughing. “Get_ off _!”_

_“Not ’til you promise!”_

_“Haha—”_

_This goes on for a few minutes, with the two going back and forth, Aster continuing on with his tickle attacks and Wingdings wheezing for air. Papyrus can’t help but laugh at it all._ They’re so silly! _He thinks_. ...I wonder what happened to them.

 _“Alright!_ Alright _!” Wingdings shouts finally, pushing the other off. He curls up into a ball, holding his sides. “Alright, I promise, just—_ mercy _, Aster! It’s a virtue.”_

_“Oh, virtue my butt! It’s rare to see you smile.” Aster smiles. “But, ah, I think you’ve had enough, so I’ll leave you be. For now.”_

_He stands, brushing himself off and holding out his hand. Wingdings takes it, being pulled to his feet._

_“You know, if ya asked me,” Aster says, wrapping an arm around Dings and pulling him in the direction of the door, “I’d say that you and I are gonna turn out pretty great someday. Or at least you—I can’t focus to save my life, so I’d probably never get anything done.”_

_Wingdings laughs, opening the door and heading inside. “Yeah, yeah—whatever you say, brother.”_

_The door closes, and the memory fades to static, lost to the void. A small, white heart appears in its place, and Papyrus reaches forward and snatches it up, a white glow signaling in his chest as he absorbs it. He feels stronger when he does—whole._

_But not quite._

_Papyrus steps away, sighing, looking around with his hands in his pockets._ Well, that was something.

_He turns away, walking off into another part of the Void._

Now, I wonder where he’s hiding…

***

_Beep…beep…_

The rhythmic sound of a heartbeat echoed all around him, pulling Wingdings out of his stupor. Fake stars glimmered in the sky outside, signaling nighttime, shapes and shadows moving in the window. He pulled himself away from it, rubbing his eyes and groaning. _What…?_

He looked around, finding himself in his old room, in his old bed. Machinery and magic were abundant, purple dancing among wires and tubes. When he glanced down, feeling something shift, he found his brother, in a medicated-induced slumber, his arms and chest assaulted by needles. His eyes remained closed, unresponsive.

Wingdings stared down at him, his breath caught in his throat. The fact that what he was seeing was nothing but a memory slipped from his mind for a moment, and for a second he had the urge to cry. _He looks so broken…_

_Beep…beep…_

He closed his eyes. His expression levels out.

 _…Or_ did.

Sighing, he wiggled his way out from his brother’s grasp, standing. He stopped briefly to make sure Aster wasn’t in an odd or uncomfortable position, resting him on his back, before turning around, looking at the rest of the room. He kept his arms wrapped around himself, his knuckles flashing white against the contrasting darkness.

His lower lip trembled, and it’s all he could do to bite it down and keep it still. _Why is this happening?_ He wondered, muffling a sob. He choked it down, refusing to let himself crack. He’d done that enough already. _This isn’t right…none of this is_ right _. He’s gone through enough. I’ve—_ I’ve _gone through enough! Why can’t…why can’t everything just—_

“…Do you hate me?”

He blinked, his thoughts fizzling out. He looked around, shifting on his feet, completely caught off guard by the voice. _Where did that…?_

“You can stop pretending now. I know you do.”

He turned around. Sitting next to the bed in a chair, knees tucked underneath his chin, was a younger Wingdings. His eyes, dull as they were, focused on nothing at all, drifting up to the ceiling as he spoke in a monotone voice, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

“I know…I know I messed up,” he murmured, his words failing to reach the body in front of him, “Everyone says I did. Dad…Dad won’t even talk to me, and—and Mom’s in her room again. But, uh—when _isn’t_ she, right?”

No response.

Young Wingdings frowned. “…Why won’t you wake up?” He asked suddenly. “Are you…are you dying?”

No response.

“…No. No, that _can’t_ be it. If you were dying, then your soul wouldn’t be glowing, right?” He stopped. “…So—so that means you’re just playing a trick on me. Right?”

Wingdings kept his eyes trained on the back of his other self’s head, his head ringing with the constant beeping of the machines.

_Beep…beep…beep…_

_Beep._

“I’m sorry,” his other self said, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t—I didn’t _think_ you’d get hurt. I didn’t think…that everyone would be mad at me. I was just—just _mad_. Mad that you’re always treated better than me, and—and even when I work hard, I—I still—I’m still not as good as you. That I’ll never be as _great_ as _you_.”

Silence. Wingdings stepped forward, his steps softened by the carpet.

His younger self sniffled, rubbing at his face. Surprisingly, he keeps his voice level despite the tears. “Why won’t you say something?” He snapped, his voice raising slightly. “This—this isn’t fun anymore, Aster, I—I don’t like this _game_ anymore! Just wake up, won’t you?”

Nothing.

“…You _will_ wake up, right?”

 _Nothing_.

“…Are you really _that_ selfish?”

 ** _Nothing_**.

Wingdings fell quiet, his eyes studying—truly studying—the form of his brother for the first time. “…I guess you _do_ hate me, huh?”

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

“…Well.” Young Wingdings stood, standing right in front of Wingdings, reaching up to wipe away his tears. “Guess that settles it…

“…I’m—I’ll leave you alone, I guess.”

Wingdings watched him leave, rubbing at his arms, utterly hopeless. The bedroom door closed, leaving him with his catatonic brother, motionless in his bed.

He watched his breathing, the other boy’s chest raising and falling in a steady rhythm, all up until the room faded, the static ringing in his ears.

_…_

He looked around at the hall, the walls and floor tilted, the boy standing crooked. Doors hung open, revealing the distorted, damaged belongings inside, beaten up, burned, and worn. He braced against the door, looking straight ahead.

His soul beat against his chest.

He knew where he was. He knew what was happening.

What this _was_.

_…No._

He didn’t want to move. His hands shook, his feet planted in their spot, his legs weak.

He didn’t want to move.

He didn’t want to see.

But, as this was a memory, he had to—forced to play along like a puppet on strings.

He walked forward, his footsteps forced, heavy. His voice shook as he whispered, “Mom…?”

He could hear it before he could see it. Rope swinging back and forth, wood creaking. It’s an unmistakable sound, after all—a sound you hear all too often that it’s hard to miss, after so long. A shadow crept up the opposite wall, drifting back and forth, slow and constant, a quiet, solemn figure preferring only to be seen by a select few.

And Wingdings happened to be one of those people.

He paused at the sight of it, stopping just outside of his mother’s room, his eyes widening. He paled. “Mom?” he murmured, eyes trained on the figure as his hand fell on the door handle.

Slowly, he turned away. Slowly, he pushed the door open—

 _Don’t, don’t, don’t,_ don’t _,_ **don’t** _—_

He stopped.

…He wasn’t sure what he expected, now that he thought about it. He’d never shied away from death, and had grown quite familiar with it as a child, what with how often people fell down in the Underground.

Still, watching his mother swing back and forth, the noose tight around her neck and making it look terribly crooked, was…a shock. To say the least.

“…M…Mo…m…?”

He stepped forward, reaching out to her, mouth moving but words failing to be spoken.

He managed to get two steps in, still staring into her wide, empty eyes, before her body crumbled to dust, leaving behind nothing but her remains and clothes.

His arm fell to his side.

Wingdings wasn’t sure what to do. What _could_ he do? He couldn’t just forget or ignore it; couldn’t shut himself out and pretend everything was okay. He couldn’t sing it away, couldn’t yell it away. He sure as hell wasn’t _crying_ it away.

None of that would bring his mother back.

Wingdings swayed on his heels, staring numbly at his mother’s remains. His thoughts spun a mile a minute, incoherent and disorienting, leaving him a blinking, confused mess.

Funny enough, the first thought that came to mind wasn’t, “Why?” It wasn’t “This is my fault,” even though it never was to begin with.

No, the first thought that came to him, the boy picking up his mother’s hoodie and holding it close to his chest, was, _Boy, Dad and Aster are gonna be_ pissed _._

He stood there for a minute, blinking, his tears finally flowing freely down his face, each tear cooling the burning in his chest until his soul was coated with an icy, hard barrier. Shutting him inside his own body once again.

He tucked the hoodie underneath his arm, sniffling, wiping at his eyes as he turned on his heels. He didn’t look at the rope hanging by the ceiling, nor at the dust still piled up on the floor.

Instead, he simply left the room, returning to his and his brother’s room.

His brother remained asleep, oblivious as always.

“…Hey, brother.” He walked up to his side, kneeling and shaking him gently. “…Mom is dead.”

Nothing.

_Beep. Beep._

_Beep._

Wingdings frowned. He glanced over to the machines from the corner of his eye, narrowing his gaze at them.

“…The game is over, brother. We—” _I—_ “—can’t stay here. Not anymore.”

No response. Aster’s eyelids fluttered, no doubt in some kind of dream, the drugs running their course.

Wingdings’s grip tightened on the hoodie, and he stood, sighing. “Aster, I…” He stopped. He shook his head. “…We have to go.”

He reached forward, fingers trembling, hands wrapping around the tubes and wires.

“But don’t worry. I’ll…take care of you. Okay?”

_BeeeEEEEEEE—_

The machines broke off into an uproar as he went along disconnecting tube after tube, wire after wire, pulling off tape and wincing every time blood pricked at his brother’s wounds. His hands glowed faintly with a green glow, magic trickling onto the other as he wrapped the coat around him, checking his health:

 

ASTER – ATK *** DEF ???

HP *!&#)(*$&

* Loves his brother.

 

Wingdings closed his eyes and dismissed it, lifting the other twin into his arms. _I’ll make it up to you_ , he thought, though to his brother or himself, he wasn’t sure.

“Come on,” he murmured, heading for the door. “I’ll—I’ll take you to the Capitol. Then…then we’ll figure it out from there, yeah?”

Aster’s breathing was his only response.

Strangely, that was all he needed. He smiled. “…We should hurry…before Dad gets home…”

_Before Dad kills me._

_Before anything else can go wrong._

And he walked off, leaving the room, their home—leaving everything behind, even as everything faded to black. Even as the form of his brother faded into nothing in his hands, leaving him alone, walking forward into nothing.

It took him a while—a long while—before he stopped. He allowed his arms to fall to his sides, the boy staring down at the ground. His expression nothing but an emotionless mask.

“…I’m sorry.”

His shoulders shook. The boy wrapped his arms around himself, whimpering, falling to his knees. He sobbed.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

_I didn’t mean for any of this to happen…_

He folded in on himself, hands clinging to his chest, where within his soul burned, crying out for help. He cried, and groaned, and screamed, until he lost track of time, where he was. Who he was.

Everything hurt.

And he was so scared of _feeling_ that hurt.

 _Why?_ He thought, why _does this happen?_

_…I just want everything to be okay again._

“…Hm…mm, mm…hmm, hmm…mmm—”

Humming broke through the sound, the pain, pulling him out of his episode. Wingdings lifted his head, sniffling, blinking away his tears. His eyes widened.

Someone stood in front of him, rocking from foot to foot, humming a familiar tune. They looked down at him with a teasing, lopsided grin, and when he met their gaze their smile widened. They winked. “Hey, bro. Nice to see ya—you okay?”

“…A-Aster?” Wingdings croaked. Rubbing at his face, he climbed up to his feet, not daring to waste another second. “Is—where did you—”

“Does that _really_ matter right now?” Aster’s smile fell away, the boy tilting his head. “Hey, are you _crying_? I thought you didn’t do that kinda thing…are you hurt?”

For a moment, Dings stared, deadpanned.

Then, he laughed, launching forward and wrapping his arms around the other, squeezing him to the point of suffocating him.

“You’re okay!” He cried, awfully stuffy, nuzzling into the other’s side. “I was so _worried_ …I thought you—I thought I’d never _see_ you again—”

“Uhh, bro—”

“I’m so sorry, brother, I—I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear, I—I’ll do better from now on, and I’ll stop trying to take your place, and fighting with you over stupid things, and—and—”

“Bro—”

Dings began sobbing again, hiding his face in the other’s sweater, his voice muffled. “Aster, it was so _terrible_ …we did _terrible_ things…I hurt you, I-I _hurt_ you, and! And I—I never stopped to _think_ what I was doing, and you had to put _up_ with me being an incompetent _jerk_ , and—and _God_ , we created _monsters_ , and they’re so _awful_ , so _hateful_ , and—and are _we_ like that? Do I make _you_ feel like—like I don’t _care_? And I’m just—I’m so tired of being chased and fought and hurt by the people I care about! Of _hurting_ the people I care about, and—and I…I…”

Aster watched as his brother clung to him, falling silent, excluding his sniffling. Blinking away his shock, he smiled, hugging the other back. “I missed you too, Dings,” he chuckled. “Though, ah, tone down the self-hate-fest, yeah?”

Wingdings looked up at him, eyes still full of tears. Pausing, he pulled away, shuffling his feet and wiping them away. “Yeah…”

Aster hummed, looking around. “I’m taking it you haven’t had the best time here, either, huh?” He said.

“Not in the slightest.” Dings paused, looking at the floor. “…How did you find me?” He asked.

“I heard you screaming.”

“…Oh.”

Aster chuckled, stepping forward. He took his twin’s arm, pulling him forward. “How about you and I get outta here instead of rubbing snot into my clothes?” He suggested, gesturing the vast openness around them. “There’s nobody really around right now, so maybe now that we’re together, and there’s no monsters or anything…we can, uh—I dunno—go home?”

“…Home?” Dings repeated.

Aster snorted, nodding. “Duh, home! Where else?”

Dings met his gaze, rubbing at his arm. He smiled. “ _Please_.”

The other twin pulled him along, laughing, “Well, you don’t gotta tell me twice—now, come on! Let’s go!”

He tugged on the other’s sleeve, but Dings tripped to a stop, fumbling with his hands. Aster turned to him, curious, waiting.

“Uh…Dings?”

Wingdings hesitated, unsure of himself. Then, he hugged the other again, tighter this time. “…I love you, brother.”

Aster blinked, stunned.

“Sorry I’m too stuck up to say it most of the time,” Dings chortled, shaking his head. “But I _do_ care. And…I promise, I won’t hurt you. Not like how I have been…”

“…Aw, Dings.” Aster hugged him back, giggling. “You finally got over yourself! It only took you forever…” He trailed off, grip tightening on the other’s back. “…to be an absolute idiot.”

Wingdings buffered at that, confusion clouding his features, startled by the sudden shift in character. “Wha—”

_Shing!_

Wingdings’s eyes blew wide, his skin paling on the spot. His sweater soaked through with red. “As…Ast…er…?”

“Sorry, Dingus…”

His brother pulled away, leaving him suspended in the air, a bone protruding through Dings’s chest. Aster’s eyes glowed conflicting colors, flashing purple, red, blue, orange, and back to purple again, the boy’s smile edged with something sinister. A figure—a shadow, of sorts—manifested behind him, disfigured and grotesque, vaguely familiar yet a stranger all in one.

“ _Bu_ t **y** o ** _ur_** _br_ o ** _t_ h**e **r** i ** _s_** _d_ e **ad**.”

_Shing!_

The bone disappeared, and the boy fell to the ground, limp. His eyes remained wide and shocked, horror written all over his face, his body frozen from pain. His soul hovered above his body long after his body turned to dust.

The Doctor glided forward, the image of Aster fading away. It held a hand out, fingers glancing over the glowing, bleeding soul.

“ _Finally, we’ve found you_.”

“ **Took you long enough to show yourself**.”

“ _So trusting, too—that weakness will play in our favo_ r.”

“ ** _Now_** …”

It went to grab the soul,

“ ** _Let’s see wha_** —”

_Ping!_

Just before it could absorb it, Wingdings’s soul disappeared, the Doctor stopping in its tracks. “…What?”

“ **Where did it go?** ”

“ _Impossible. This is_ —”

_Ping!_

It turned, eyes burning vibrantly, flickering wildly in its head.

Standing there, soul in his hands, a shit-eating grin in place, was Papyrus, standing just out of reach from the other monster. He held the cracked soul protectively close, his gaze sharp, warning. Daring.

“Hello, again, Gaster,” he said innocently, offering a bright smile, which faded into a curious pout. “You seem upset about something. Has something gotten in the way of your plans again?”

Gaster’s face contorted into a melted, wilting mess, its mouth turning downwards into a snarl.

“ ** _You insufferable creature_** —”

“ _How dare you meddle with our work?_ ”

It lunged, but Papyrus popped out of existence, appearing behind it by a good distance and then some. It startled to a halt, turning to him, glaring. It saw that attacking would do it no good.

Papyrus smiled, chuckling. “Who, me? Why, I’d _never_.” He rocked on his heels, taking a step away from the Doctor, glancing down at the soul. “After all, if your job involves killing people, it’s not a very good one.”

“ **And who are you to judge us?** ” It spat. “ _You are nothing compared to us_.”

“ ** _Do you understand?_** ”

“ _You **are** _ nothing.”

Papyrus blinked, humming. “Ah— _wrong_. But hey, keep telling yourself that! Maybe when your life falls apart and your ego shatters, it’ll help you realize you’re a terrible person who steps on others just to get ahead. Oh, wait—my bad. You’re already _at_ your lowest, right? Pity.”

“ ** _Are you mocking us?_** ”

“No. Just stating the facts.” Papyrus grinned, poking at the soul in his hands. Voice lowering, he continued, stating, “But then again, that’s what you did when you shattered my brother’s soul, so why not return the favor?”

The Doctor didn’t have a response to that. It hated that.

“ ** _…Give us that soul._** ”

“ **We will not harm it, or you. Is that what you want?** ”

“ _For us to show mercy?_ ”

“ _Mercy_?” Papyrus spat. “No! I want you to let my friends and brother go home. But you won’t do that, and you’d rather help yourselves rather than anyone else, so I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon.”

The Doctor growled, stepping closer, “ ** _Give us his soul!_** ”

“ _We will live again! We must!_ ”

Papyrus paused. “Ah—fuck no.” He stepped back, his smile widening. Humming, he flipped it off for good measure, adding, “And fuck you, too, while I’m at it. Bye-bye!”

“ ** _No_** —”

_Vwoomp!_

He disappeared, leaving the Doctor alone.

Slowly, it lowered its hands, sighing.

“ _…So._ ”

“ ** _That_ is what he is planning**.”

“ ** _Stalling us for the sake of his friends—how_ foolish _._** ”

 _“…Nothing to worry about, however_.”

It slunk forward, beginning to fade in a wave of static.

“ ** _He will fall, too. One way or another_**.”


	8. THE FALLEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> =)

The howling wind was the first thing Frisk heard upon waking up.

The ground underneath them is metallic, cool; chilling them to the touch. They blink away spots in their vision, but in doing so find themselves submerged in darkness. Still the wind howled, careening them around, around, around.

_Where…where am I…?_

Groaning, they sat up, rubbing at their head. Their hand came away sticky and warm. _Blood…?_

Their surroundings were bland and grey, revealing to them a dismal, empty room. It felt fitted to house only them inside, being not much bigger than they were around.

They couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there.

Their mind reeled almost as much as their vision did, the child climbing to their feet. They had to duck their head to avoid clipping it on the ceiling.

Frisk grumbled to themselves, patting down their sweater. They sighed. There was only one way they could figure out what was going on, and they didn’t really like the sounds of it.

Still, it was worth a shot, they supposed.

_I’ve never seen this before, Chara…have you?_

No response.

_…Strange._

Frisk fidgeted, looking around at the claustrophobic space. Unease settled on their chest, making it harder to breathe.

_…Chara? Are you there?_

Their usual, unwelcome companion’s voice failed to respond, something that irked them more than being in an unfamiliar place.

“…Chara?” They said, their voice hoarse. “...Hello?”

“…Mom? Dad?”

“Undyne?”

“Alphys?”

“…Anyone?”

They called out their friends names, their voice rising with each one, becoming frantic.

But still, they were met with silence.

They were alone.

Frisk’s soul dropped to their shoes. _This isn’t good…_

Their head hurt to the point their vision blurred, their ears pulsing as a hammer pounded on their head. They winced, holding onto it. What’s going on? Where is everyone…?

_Shing!_

“ _Ghh_ —”

Frisk crumbled to their knees, arms wrapped around their stomach. Pain shot through them, however brief, a scream on the tip of their tongue as they coughed.

But…there was no blood. No wound.

_What—_

The pain grew worse, the child crying out as they doubled over. They pounded a fist into the floor, coughing and wheezing, eyes blown wide as they failed to understand what was causing this.

_It…It feels kinda like—_

_Like when I fought Sans…_

_Shing!_

The skeleton brothers. The Doctor.

_Their family._

It all rushed back to them, flashing painfully as the pain intensified, growing worse, and worse…and then fading altogether.

Frisk jumped up with a gasp, tears filling their eyes. The walls, uncomfortable before, now felt as if they were closing in.

“…Mom!”

Grunting, fighting against the ache in their body, they pulled themselves to their feet, struggling against the urge to collapse all over again.

“Mom! Dad!” They called, “ _Chara_!”

 _I have to find them,_ they told themselves, their gaze hardening, set on the door across the room. _I_ have _to._

Their soul pulsed, determined just as much as they were.

Carefully, their hand pressed against the wall to keep themselves balanced, they stepped forward, reaching for the door. They tried the knob.

Unlocked.

 _Yes!_ They pushed it open, wincing as it creaked, stepping outside of the room. “Hel—?”

They stopped.

What laid ahead of them was unlike anything they’d ever seen before. A black hole tore at the world around them, drowning them and everything else in murky darkness, draining the life and color out of their surroundings. Its presence left them feeling drained, empty, unfulfilled, taking away from them whatever path they might have had to their friends. The wind tackled them, picking up speed, threatening to lift them up and carry them away.

It was a nightmare. A horrendous, monster of a nightmare.

_Oh my God…_

Frisk stared at it from the doorway, holding onto the doorframe for dear life, the wind screaming in their ears. They were completely isolated.

“…Nope.”

Their shock bled into a frown, the child standing their ground. Their brown eyes flashed red.

 _I’m going to find them and get out of here. No matter_ what _happens._

Holding their breath, they closed their eyes, pushing back their fear. Slowly, they let go of the doorframe.

Dipping forward, Frisk allowed themselves to fall into the abyss, going down, down, down…

 

***

_“Asriel, do you remember the Royal Scientist?”_

_“Royal Scientist? You mean…Dr. Gaster, right? What about him, Chara?”_

…What is this?

_“Well, he told me something very interesting today. Apparently, when a monster absorbs a human soul, they can cross the barrier!”_

_“I thought you knew that already?”_

Why is this happening? I don’t…I don’t remember this—

_“Yes! But, he told me something else—something that might help free us.”_

_“Really? What’d he say?”_

Please…

_“Well…he’s in charge of breaking down the barrier, but he told me a way that we could do it!”_

Make it stop…

 _“Huh? Us? How can_ we _break the barrier? We’re just kids…”_

_“I’m a human, aren’t I, Azzy? Humans are…very fragile. Not as fragile as monsters, but fragile enough. And Dr. Gaster even told me a way of giving my soul up!”_

_“But…but humans, humans can only do that if…if they’re…”_

Stop…

_“…Exactly! And he told me a secret about the buttercups! He even helped me make a plan!”_

_Stop._

_“But—But that’s dangerous!”_

**Stop!**

_“But it’s worth it! Don’t you want to save everyone? After all, once you go over the barrier with my soul, we can get six more, and then, bam! Everyone is free! Everyone will be safe!”_

**_Stop!_ **

_“But…But Mom and Dad…”_

_“Don’t worry about them! They’ll be better off on the surface! Just think about it: You, Mom and Dad—and me too, because you’ll have my soul!—all up on the surface, ruling over the monsters and defeating the humans! With our souls…do you know how much good we can do? How many people we’ll help?”_

**Stop it!**

_“Well…I guess so…if you think it’s a good idea, then I guess we could try…?”_

NO!

_“Excellent! I’ll get the flowers! You sit tight—and remember, we only need six!”_

…

_“…Right…six. We just need to get six.”_

_“…I hope you know what you’re doing, Chara.”_

...Why…

Why did you tell me to do it?

 

***

 

…Chara opened their eyes to find themselves on their deathbed.

They were alone. That much was obvious, given the silence; Asriel couldn’t bare leaving them alone for more than a few minutes before screeching in their ear. A cloth rested on their forehead, still damp, bandages wrapped around their arms. Bags hung underneath their eyes, and their cheeks were flushed, making their sickness evident.

Their mouth tasted of buttercups.

“Ugh…”

They sat up, peeling the rag from their head and throwing it aside. They didn’t bother to see where it landed.

They looked around their dusty, abandoned bedroom, a hole residing in their chest where their soul should be.

They became vividly aware of it—and the fact that they weren’t really alive.

 _What am I doing here?_ They thought, scratching at their head, strands of their pulling away effortlessly from their decaying head. _I haven’t been in here for so long…_

_…Where is Frisk?_

“…Chara…”

Chara jumped at the voice, their train of thought derailed in an instant, looking up at the doorway. Their movements stilled.

“…Asriel?”

Silence. Chara waited, leaning forward to listen closer.

It took a while, a long while, for the silence to shatter. Their brother’s voice flitted in again, echoing down the hall, “Chara…where are you…?”

“H-Hold on, Azzy! I’m…I’m coming!”

Chara threw the covers back, stumbling out of bed. They almost tripped and fell to the floor, catching themselves just before they did so, a sickly cough tearing through them as they ran out of the room, following after the voice.

A figure stood at the end of the hall, walking away from them. It turned around the corner, the lights flickering behind it, calling out their name: “Chara…”

“Asriel!” _Stop running off! I’m right here!_

Chara rushed after it, their barefeet (where did their shoes go?) smacking against the floorboards.

Chara stopped just around the corner, finding the figure climbing down the steps to the basement. No matter how they tried to look at it, they couldn’t tell who it was. All they knew was that it sounded like their lost brother.

“Chara! Chara, this isn’t funny…I’m scared, Chara…”

“Azz, stop it!” They followed after it, taking the steps two at a time. “I’m right here! Stop walking away from me!”

Still, the figure walked off, not responding to their cries.

…Can he…can he not hear me? They wondered, hesitating. Can he not see me?

Frowning, they shook their head. No. No, that’s impossible.

They ran after it, despite how tired they were and how much they wanted to rest. They could care less about how much they hurt—anything to see Asriel again.

Finally, _finally_ , the person stopped at the Ruins door, leading into the rest of the Underground. The only way to exit the remains of the old, forgotten city.

The figure stood in front of it, swaying slightly back and forth, its back turned to them. It mumbled incoherently to itself, its words lost to the child that had been so fervent following after it.

Chara stopped just short of them, their skin crawling. _Something’s not right…_

“…Azzy?” They asked, their voice just above a whisper. They stepped forward, reaching out to the figure. “Azzy, hey, what’s wrong…?”

When the person turned around to face them, they lurched back, pulling their hand away as though they’d been burned.

Chara screamed.

Standing in front of them, knife in hand and face a melting, decaying mess, was themselves. Its eyes were vacant, missing, leaving nothing but eye sockets in their wake; its clothes torn and bloodied. In its chest was Chara’s soul—a sight that scared them more than anything else.

“Surprise!” Their alternate giggled, spinning around. Chara had to back away to avoid being sliced with the knife in their fist. When it stopped, it faked a pout, shuffling bashfully. “Oh, are you disappointed? How cute!”

Chara stepped away from it, appalled, unable to utter a word. They couldn’t believe this. They _wouldn’t_.

 _What the hell_ is _that thing?_

“Aw, scared, are you?” It grinned wide, stepping towards them. It laughed when they scrambled away, gasping, hands held up in defense—in preparation to fight. “Pitiful! I thought we were better than this—come on, quit being so stupid and come here! I won’t hurt you…” Its grin widened. “Yet.”

Chara felt like they were going to puke. “W…What are you?” They asked, swallowing passed a lump in their throat. Yup, _definitely_ going to throw up. _Gross_.

The creature hummed, studying its weapon curiously, running its finger along the blade. Something black and oily drizzled onto the ground, staining it. “Oh, Chara,” it mused, “I believe the question you wish to ask is ‘ _who_ ,’ not ‘ _what_ ’ I am!”

“…I don’t understand,” Chara gripped the front of their sweater, their lower lip trembling. “You…you’re…”

“I’m you.” The thing smiled, rocking back and forth on its heels, finishing their thought. “Or, more specifically, your ‘determination.’ I am the whole reason you ever existed—why you continued to exist after you fell here.”

It gestured around them, swinging its knife around carelessly. The empty, hollow walls around them seemed to darken as they were addressed, tar oozing out of the cracks in the cement.

Chara flinched, backing away. “You…you’re _not_ me,” they spat out, clenching their fists. They held their ground then, refusing to step back any further. _No running. I am_ not _a coward._ “I’ll never be anything _like_ you!”

“Oh, don’t be so sure!”

Chara yelped when the creature disappeared, frozen in place when an arm wrapped around their shoulders, pulling them closer to something sticky and wet. They ripped themselves away, yelling, turning to find it standing behind them.

_What—_

“Don’t try to deny it, now,” it spoke, approaching, its smile sinister and knife held at the ready. “You and I both know how we are, after all! Our mutual hatred for humanity—and the world altogether—is what gave us the will to continue in the first place, even after our death! Our separation in this place was only a bonus. Now, we can work _together_.”

“W-Work together?” Chara stuttered, eyebrows bunching together. “What…do you mean by that?”

“To eradicate everyone, of course!” The creature laughed, its voice distorting as it did so. When it looked to them again, it calmed, coming off as sickly-sweet as they waved a hand in the air. “We almost did it once, with that human. Frisk…such an adorable little human, aren’t they? So strong and powerful…it’s such a shame they reset and erased all of our work before we could complete it. I was so _excited_ to destroy everything, to erase humanity off the face of the Earth…but they ruined it.” Its smile faded. “We had failed.”

“Which was a _good_ thing,” Chara butted in, stomping their foot. “Everyone else is happy—that’s what we wanted!”

“That’s what _you_ wanted,” it growled, its hold tightening around the knife. “ _You_ wanted to save them! You and them both…and that stupid little rat Asriel! So concerned about others when they don’t even care…what’s the _point_? Even monsters have turned out to be cruel—just look no further than your little doctor friends.”

Chara winced, looking away.

The creature paused, pacified by their hesitance. It stepped closer, wrapping its arm around them again, its voice a coo as it continued on its little speech. “I know you’ve been hurt by all of this. We _both_ have! Even _with_ everyone being on the surface, there’s still interference that’s keeping us from a happy ending…and you and I both know _how_ to make a happy ending. Don’t we?”

Chara didn’t respond.

“Come on— _join_ me, Chara!” It bounced on its soles, coming around to stand in front of them now. It took their hands, grinning from ear to ear. “Help me finish what we started! Forget Frisk and Asriel—they stabbed us in the back and took everything away from us. Hell, Frisk thinks we’re some kind of _demon_. But…if we work together, then that won’t be a problem, now, will it?”

Chara’s eyes settled on the knife in the creature’s hand, carefully held between its and their own. Still, they remained silent, their head reeling, weighed down with terrible thoughts that reflected in their eyes.

The creature could see the change in their demeanor. It giggled. “It might be fun,” it hummed, leaning forward. “You never know—don’t knock it ’til you try it, as they say!”

The human looked up at it, searching its eyes. There, they found bitterness and hatred, a twisted sense of innocence kicked along by a mad drive to destroy. To erase.

They remembered being like this once.

They didn’t want to become that way again.

“No.”

The creature jumped, visibly startled, blinking furiously. “ _Excuse_ m— _aahh!_ ”

While it had been whispering sweet-nothings to them, Chara had taken its knife, and with it they did the only thing they could.

They stabbed it, shoving the knife right through its chest.

Black, steaming goo spilled from its eyes and mouth, choking on its words as it tried to speak, fingernails digging into Chara’s arm. It squirmed, lashing out, growing weaker and weaker…

It slid off the knife, going limp, collapsing onto the ground. Its decayed, rotten mass sizzled and melted into a puddle of nothing, leaving behind nothing but their soul.

Chara stared at it, teary-eyed, rubbing at their eyes to keep themselves from crying. _Stop being a crybaby_ , they scolded themselves. _You’re a big kid. Big kids don’t cry._

Shaking their head, trying to clear their thoughts, they reached forward, their fingers wrapping around their soul.

It felt warm to the touch; a welcoming feeling, given how cold and stiff they were. Their soul returned to them, light and color filling the room as life returned to their aching, decaying body.

Their skin colored. The flush in their cheeks vanished. The decay faded and mended, returning them to normal.

They felt warm.

They felt alive.

And yet, with this new feeling of life, came this terrible, bone-crushing despair.

_I’m a monster…_

_I don’t deserve this._

_Why? Why am I being given a second chance?_

_Clang!_

They dropped the knife, their hand hanging loosely by their side. The tears they had tried to stop began to fall.

They had half the mind to cry, but they didn’t. They couldn’t.

No—for all that came out of them was a scream so loud, it was almost enough to shatter the Void and make it collapse on itself.

Almost. But even they are not enough to stop the torment of the Void all on their own.

Not quite.

 

***

 

Such a scream did not go unheard.

_Chara?_

Frisk floated in nothingness, looking into the darkness to find nothing but endless black. They could barely move their body, unable to move against the intense winds keeping them in place—but they heard their friend. They had initiative, and that was all it’d take.

They struggled against their confines, forcing themselves to move despite how the wind locked their limbs against their body. They wiggled, trapped inside the black hole churning all around them, crying out in frustration.

Chara’s screams could be heard from within.

Move, they told themselves, I have to move…

Gritting their teeth, tears pricking in the corners of their eyes, Frisk reached forward, in the direction of Chara’s voice.

The wind, detecting something sticking out, grabbed a hold, sucking the inside.

Frisk could do nothing as they were yanked forward, the darkness tearing at their face, their arms. Pain wracked their body, keeping them immobile.

They screamed.

And then, just as quick as it had started, it ended. At the end of the darkness, a hall manifested, a familiar one at that. The hole spat them out, Frisk collapsing in a pile of slime, a foul odor rising up the moment they disturbed the odd remains.

They gagged, sitting up, coughing. “Ch-Cha—Chara?” they ground out, squinting through the muck, trying to wipe it off of themselves _. God, it smells like something_ died…

Behind them, sniffling could be heard, along with the sound of footsteps. When they turned, they found Chara, hair hanging in their face, a quiet, sobbing mess.

“F-Frisk?” They murmured, sniffing, rubbing their eyes. “What…what are you doing here? Where did you come from?”

Frisk grinned, jumping to their feet and running over to them. “Chara! Found you!”

“ _Ack—_ ” Chara stumbled from the hug, their arms trapped underneath Frisk’s, the child smiling nervously at the attention. They patted the other’s side, sighing. “Uh, yeah…found you too?” They paled when they noticed what they were covered in. “Um…Frisk…?”

The human pulled away, their smile fading as they tilted their head, confusion evident in their face.

…Chara didn’t have the nerve to tell them. “Ah…it’s nothing. I’m—I’m glad to see you again.”

“You are?” Frisk wrinkled their nose at that. “No scolding?”

“Scolding? What—” Chara bit their tongue, looking away. “Oh, right. I usually tell you how much of a dummy you’re being, right? Well, uh…” They deflated, sighing. “I’m not really in the mood for it, I guess. I’ve had a helluva time…it’s just. Nice. To see a familiar face right now—that’s _not_ my own…”

“…Okay?” Frisk gave them an odd look, rolling their eyes. _Wonder what that’s all about…_ “…Why—you scream?”

Chara rubbed their arm, not meeting their eyes. “It’s…it’s complicated.” They gasped then, hands gripping their sweater. “Frisk! Your soul—it’s gone!”

Frisk buffered at that, blinking. Looking down, they clamped a hand over their chest, feeling for a familiar thrum. They found none. What…?

Curious, they attempted to summon their soul, trying to pull it into view. They gasped when, instead of their red, glowing soul of determination, they found nothing but a dripping, pulsing ball of black. The substance they’d been swimming in just moments before.

 _I…I couldn’t have lost it in there, could I?_ They paled, their lips moving but no sound coming out. They felt sick.

“A-Ahh!” Chara waved their hands wildly over their head, getting the other child’s attention. “Don’t panic—I woke up without mine, too, I just—I thought you would have noticed by now…”

Frisk cocked their head. “You…lost soul. Too?”

“Y-Yeah! But I found it, so it’s all good.” Chara summoned theirs to prove it. “See?”

Frisk gasped, pointing at it and grinning. And then, after a moment of thought, it faded. “…But…you’re…dead?” They said, frowning. “Why…soul, now?” _Now that I think about it, they do look a lot better than before…and they’re a lot nicer. Maybe…maybe now that they’re not soulless, they can feel again? Like…_ he _did?_

Chara paled. They put their soul back, clearing their throat. “A-ha. Well, uh, that’s—it’s complicated. A long story. Anyway, we’ll find it again, so don’t worry!”

“…Right.” Frisk looked away, frowning to themselves, glancing around at the room. They remembered about their family, grabbing Chara’s wrist and squeezing it. “Mom! Dad! Missing!”

“Missing?” Chara repeated, their eyes widening. “B-But where could they have—”

“Yeah! And…everyone! Gone!” Frisk gestured wildly, their words not coming out the way they’d like. They settled for signing instead. ‘ _Dr. Gaster killed everyone and sent us here. I think he’s going to hurt them! We have to find them!_ ’

Chara scoffed, grabbing their hand. “Well, you could have said that earlier!” they snapped. Growling under their breath, they pulled the child behind them, in the direction of the Ruins door. “Come on, let’s go find them! No use in sticking around here!”

Frisk agreed with a curt nod, running along behind them.

Just as the two reached to push open the door and exit the Ruins, a voice behind them called out, stopping them short:

“ ** _You’re not going anywhere_**.”


	9. THE RABBIT HOLE

Frisk and Chara froze, hands still hovering inches away from the exit. They shared wide-eyed, terrified looks, neither of them daring to look at who stood behind them.

Footsteps approached behind them, a low chuckle echoing around the room. “ _Now, now, children..._ ”

“ **No need to be afraid**.”

“ ** _Why don’t you turn around and greet an old friend?_** ”

Frisk was the first to move, shuddering at the oddly familiar phrase. Their lips trembling, they turned to Chara, mouthing, “What do we do?”

Chara gave them a look, shrugging as if to say, “How the hell would I know?” That wasn’t far from what they were thinking, admittedly.

“ _Humans..._ ”

“ **It is rude to keep someone waiting...** ”

“ ** _If you continue to ignore us, we’ll rip your souls from your bodies. Don’t think we won’t, so don’t tempt us._** ”

Frisk shook, whimpering, bowing their head. Slowly, they glanced over their shoulder, bracing themselves for what laid beyond.

They were surprised, to say the least. They expected to see the Doctor, malicious and mysterious in all his glory, waiting with bated breath to be addressed.

They were not, in any way, shape or form, expecting to find Aster standing there, a crooked, playful smile on his lips as he stared them down.

“ _Aster_!” They all but squealed in their delight, bouncing up in down. They went to bomb rush him in a hug, relieved to find him safe and sound, taking a few steps forward—

Chara grabbed their arm, spinning on their heel. “ _Don’t_!”

Frisk studied them, their eyebrows furrowed, glancing between them and Aster, who watched on in acute silence. “But...he’s...”

“Frisk, are you dense?” Chara pointed an accusatory finger at their friend, seething, their grip tightening on the other child’s arm. “You hear a creepy voice start talking and the first thing you see is _him_ , and your reaction is to _hug him_?”

Frisk frowned. “H...He’s a _friend_.”

“Frisk, not everyone is a _friend_!” Chara glared at the small monster, pressing themselves against the exit. “ _Especially_ in this place.”

The other human gave them a curious look, torn between them and Aster. “But...but—”

“ _Are you two done?_ ” Aster asked, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth. Frisk’s eyes widened at how distorted his voice was, sounding awfully similar to the Doctor. No, exactly like the Doctor. “ **We don’t have all day.** ”

Frisk whimpered, backing away. “Wh...what...happ...?” They struggled to get the words out, clinging to Chara’s arm. _Did they—did they brainwash him? Why is he acting like this? This is bad...this is_ really _bad..._

“What did you _do_?” Chara demanded, stomping their foot. They stood in front of the other human, shielding them in case the monster tried anything. “Where’s the real Aster?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Not-Aster pouted, shuffling back and forth. He hummed. “As far as I’m aware, he’s right here...not like he could leave, anyway.” His smile widened. “We wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Well, you had to have done _something_ ,” Chara spat, their face reddening. They reached down, as if for a weapon, only to find nothing. They’d forgotten they’d dropped their knife after killing themselves. “Aster’s not one to threaten his friends.”

“Correct.” Not-Aster addressed them with a disinterested, blank expression, stepping forward. The two humans pressed against the door, having nowhere else to go. “ _And he is also very weak_.”

“ ** _13 HP—it wasn’t hard to corner him and take his soul_**.”

“ **Do you want to join him?** ”

“No! Stay the hell _away_ from us!” Chara’s gaze fell on the knife, resting just in front of the fake ex-scientist. They growled under their breath, cursing themselves for not keeping it in the first place. _Stupid move, Chara._

“Where?” Frisk whispered, their voice strained. They looked ready to cry. “Where...are my fr-friend-s?”

“ ** _Around_**.” The monster before them grinned, spreading his hands out. Fuzzy, misshapen blasters appear behind him, beside him, bones coated in tricolored lights raised at the ready.

The two of them were trapped.

“ **Th** e _y_ a ** _r_** e a _wf_ u **ll _y_** im ** _p_** _at_ ie ** _nt t_** o b **e** reu _ni_ te **d** **_wi_** th y **ou** ,” Not-Aster cooed, stepping forward. His voice drained into Aster’s real voice, though it was hoarse, strained. Scared. “In fact, they’re _dying_ to see you again! Hahaha—get it?”

_Ping!_

The human children had little time to react as they were lifted off their feet, choking from the weight of the monster’s magic. It hurt to move.

“ ** _Now...which one of you wants to join them first?_** ”

_Shing!_

A bone appeared in his hands, and a disgusting, sinister smile crossed his face. Not-Aster pointed it back and forth, musing to himself.

“Hm...let’s see. Eenie, meenie, minie—”

“Nope.”

The boy startled at the voice, tensing up, swinging around with bone in hand. His body visibly distorted, melting on the spot.

“ _Who’s there?_ ”

“ **Show yourself!** ”

“ ** _We don’t appreciate these games—_** ”

BOOM!

He was caught off by a Gaster blaster going off, hitting him from the side. The boy screamed in agony, tar and dust blowing off him in an instant. He flew back into the wall, falling still, his attacks disappearing.

Aster groaned, but made no move to get up.

Frisk and Chara dropped, landing on the ground with identical grunts. They hurried to their feet, looking for the source of the attack.

“Did you see where it came from?” Chara asked, huddling close to their friend, refusing to step much farther than arm’s reach.

Frisk shook their head, peering through the darkness, “Nu-uh.”

Not far from Aster’s body, a mass of void matter collected, bubbling and poisoning the air with a putrid, suffocating odor. It stirred from their words, beginning to sizzle and pop, static obscuring it from sight.

The two humans hadn’t even noticed it, until—

_Shing!_

Bones came crashing down on it, an inhuman screech shattering the air.

The two humans stumbled back, covering their ears. “ _Ack_ —”

Someone stepped into view, peeking out from the darkness. Though weary, borderlining on suspicious, they seemed confident enough to walk over to the mass to make sure it wouldn’t attack, before rushing over to Aster, looking him over. The person picked him up, ignoring his whines of pain, cradling him in their arms.

“Well,” they sighed, turning to face the humans. “This was _not_ how I imagined this to go, but...it is nice to see you again, human.”

Frisk couldn’t believe their eyes. Mouth hanging open, they studied the torn, dirtied clothes and ruined scarf around the person’s neck, unable to speak.

And then, instinct took over. They grinned and ran up to the person, unable to stop themselves. “ _Papyrus_!”

Papyrus laughed as he was enveloped in a hug, rocking back to catch himself so he didn’t fall. He held Aster carefully in his arms, making sure not to drop him, shifting his position so he could pat his human friend on the head. “Yes, yes, hello,” he chuckled, flushing from embarrassment. “I’ve missed you too, little human! Though, ah...I wish we could have met again on better terms.”

Frisk shook their head, hiding their face in his shirt. They were too choked up to speak.

Papyrus’s gaze leveled with Chara’s, eyes meeting without Frisk knowing. Papyrus glared, his smile shrinking to a frown, his grip tightening on his friend.

Chara understood why, judging by how he tried to hide his neck. He knew who they were. “Where’s Sans?” they asked, opting to keep things friendly. No point in starting a fight, they supposed.

Frisk pulled away, hope in their eyes. “Yes! Sans!” They echoed. “Where!”

Papyrus opened his mouth, hesitating, dropping his gaze. “He’s...” He sighed, looking away. “I-I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. But I’m looking for him, so—don’t worry.”

Frisk’s smile began to fade. “Oh...”

“I-I said don’t worry!” Papyrus’s voice pitched, the skeleton resting a hand on the human’s shoulder as reassurance. “We’ll find them. But for now...”

He shot a worrying glance over to the growing mass on the floor, the humans following his gaze.

“...We should go somewhere else to talk.”

 

***

 

“Somewhere else” turned out to be Undyne’s house, a husk of a building whose remains threatened to cave in at the slightest gust of wind. The furniture had been cleaned out, the walls left bare and peeling, and the lights fizzled when Frisk flipped the switch next to the door. They were all left maneuvering through the darkness, stumbling around in the emptiness.

But, Frisk could see why Papyrus deemed it safe. The moment they stepped inside, the door slammed closed behind them, shutting out any unwanted visitors. And them in, though Frisk tried not to think about it.

The only sources of light in the house were the static figures scattered around the house. Whispers billowed out from them, their figures nothing but white, soulless echoes of the past, hovering inches from the ground.

Frisk went to touch one, eyes sparkling, but Chara stopped them, grabbing their wrist. “Don’t touch,” they ordered. “You don’t know what’ll happen if you do.”

The other child pouted, but did as they were told. They lowered their hand to their side, walking away from the bulbs of static noise, opting to sit on the floor instead.

Papyrus didn’t pay any attention to the figures, nor did he notice the fallen humans’ exchange. He laid Aster down on the ground, sitting crossed-legged next to him, resting his hands gently on the boy’s chest. A soft, green glow welled up in his palms, trickling down the child’s body, going to work on healing him.

Aster protested with a soft whine, shifting away from him, but Papyrus kept him still, focusing on nothing but healing the boy. Aster struggled, and struggled—and then, grew still, relaxing as his pain began to lessen.

Frisk and Chara watched as Aster’s wounds began to fade and disappear, neither of them saying a word. The air grew thick with magic, electrified, making their hair stand on end.

Finally, Papyrus glanced up to look at them, his eyes weighed down with bags. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. “So,” he started, clearing his throat as he moved closer to the sleeping boy in front of him, “when did _you_ two get here? I thought only Sans and I were here. Well, _besides_ this one and his brother.”

The humans shared a look, shrugging in unison. “Not that long ago,” Chara replied, raising a hand when Frisk went to speak. “I only woke up a few minutes ago...”

“Mhm,” Frisk nodded, crossing their arms. They paused, gasping, grabbing Chara’s arm. “Mom!”

“‘Mom?’” Papyrus repeated. His hands stilled, hovering over Aster’s soul—or, where it would have been, anyway. “What about Queen Toriel?”

“Oh, right...” Chara lowered their gaze, patting Frisk’s hand. In a hushed whisper, they explained, “Everyone else is here, too.”

Papyrus’s eyes widened. Paling, he looked down at Aster, running his tongue along his teeth. “...Oh.” He sighed, returning to his handiwork. “Is that all?”

“...You’re not worried?” Chara asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Papyrus shot the child a glare, but didn’t push the matter any. “...I was expecting something like this to happen,” he told them, his hands balling up into fists. They glowed brighter, the room dyed in a greenish light. “It...talked about bringing you here.”

“It?” Frisk repeated.

Chara frowned at them. “Obviously he’s talking about the freaky doctor dude.”

Papyrus chuckled. “Yes. ‘The creepy doctor dude,’” he replied, shaking his head. His laughter died in his throat, however, when his gaze fell on the boy again, his gaze hardening. He sighed, pulling his hands away, the glow at his fingertips fading. “You know, when I first came to this place, I tried to talk to it. To make amends—but it wouldn’t listen to me. Instead, it attacked me, and...”

He stopped.

Frisk and Chara waited for him to continue, leaning forward. They watched as his eyes grew hazy, the skeleton trailing off, the two of them sharing a look. “Are you okay?” Chara asked, tilting their head. “You seem out of it...”

Papyrus didn’t seem to hear them. “...I miss Sans.”

Another concerned glance. Frisk stood, walking over to him and sitting beside him, taking his hand. ‘ _We’ll find him,_ ’ they signed, offering a smile, ‘ _And Wingdings, and Mom. And everyone else! Everything will be fi—_ ’

“Sans is _dead_ , Frisk!” Papyrus whipped around, his face twisted into an awful, fuming snarl, throwing his hands up in the air as the words flew from his mouth. His eyes were watering, his eye lights flashing orange, magic and rage radiating off of him in waves.

The two humans froze, eyes wide at the declaration. _No..._

“Him, and Wingdings—both of them, _dead_! That—that _thing_ , whatever it is, _killed_ them! It absorbed his soul, and—and Wingdings’s soul disappeared the moment I tried to take it somewhere safe!” Papyrus choked, sputtering, hiding his face in his hands. “Don’t you get it? They’re...they’re _gone_.”

Frisk and Chara sat in silence, Frisk covering their mouth with their hands and Chara too shaken to move, staring Frisk down for help or perhaps even guidance. Aster stirred, whimpering from all the noise, curling up in a ball between them.

Slowly, Frisk lowered their hands, shakily placing them in their lap. They hesitated before they reached for his hand again, giving it a squeeze. “It...okay,” they told him, doing their best to smile. “Don’t. Give up, okay?”

“I’m not giving up,” Papyrus snapped, sniffling. He paused long enough to rub at his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he did so. “Ugh—I just—I just want to find Sans, and go home!” His expression softened. “...I really want to go home.”

“I know,” Frisk murmured. “We will. All of us. Just...don’t lose h-ope.” They patted the back of his hand, making the skeleton wince. “Okay?”

Papyrus met their gaze, grimacing, pulling his hand away. He relaxed a bit at their smile, calmed by their words, though the turmoil taking place in his head and his chest proved to be stubborn. “...I’m not,” he said finally, looking away. “I’m just. Tired. And...scared.” He sighed. “After watching Sans die, I—I don’t know what I can do anymore to make this better. Well, besides hide, anyway.”

Frisk huffed, climbing to their feet. They put their hands on their hips and stood their ground, giving the skeleton their best impression of the Look, who shrunk away in response. “I know wha-t to,” they said, grinning. “Find everyone, sa-ave Sans and Dings. Go home!”

“Frisk,” Chara butt in, wringing their hands, “it might not be that easy...”

“Shush!” Frisk stuck their tongue out, Chara falling quiet out of annoyance rather than anything else. The human paused, looking around, before spotting Aster. Humming, they picked the boy up, grunting as they lifted him in his arms. “We go. Out. Soon.”

“Soon as in now?” Papyrus shrieked, toning his voice down when Chara waved a hand at him. “Frisk, that’s dangerous! Besides, shouldn’t we wait until Aster’s awake? Or until we have a plan?”

“Papyrus is right,” Chara stated, crossing their arms, “we _do_ need a plan. You’ve seen that thing—it can kill us with one hit!”

“ _Have_ plan.” Frisk pointed at the entrance, frowning at the two of them for being so ridiculous. “Go out.”

Papyrus groaned. “That’s not a plan! That’s a deathwish!”

“We meant a detailed plan, Frisk—”

_Creeeak..._

They all stopped when they heard something swing open, turning in the direction of the noise, mouths still hanging open mid-conversation.

It sounded like it came from the kitchen.

 The group hesitated, looking amongst themselves to the kitchen, frozen in place.

Then, with a victorious smile in place, Frisk ran into it, leaving the other two behind.

Not for long, though, if the way Chara and Papyrus chased after them was any indication of their worry for the small child.

“Frisk!” Papyrus called, “Get _back_ here—”

“Frisk— _ughhh_ —come _back_!”

They came to a halt in the doorway, Papyrus holding out his arm to stop Chara from running ahead of him. “Wait,” he commanded, his eyes boring down at them.

His tone made Chara glared in response, but they did as he asked. Together, they studied the kitchen, looking for their friend.

One of the cupboards had swung open, its door hanging ajar among the rest. Hissing resounded inside it, along with an ever-present undertone of whispering, drawing the two closer to inspect it.

“What—”

“Oh, my—”

Inside was a tunnel, stretching on endlessly into the darkness beyond. It twisted and dipped down, dropping off into nothingness, giving them the impression of an abyss.

Just inside the hole, torn and covered in dirt, was a piece of cloth, adorned with a pink-and-purple striped pattern.

Chara scoffed at the sight of it, crossing their arms. “Well,” they muttered, “we know where Frisk went.” Despite their demeanor, their voice shook, giving way to their fear.

Papyrus glared, but didn’t respond.

“Well?” they turned to the skeleton, gesturing to the hole. “Aren’t you gonna go after them?”

Papyrus deadpanned. “No, _please_ ,” he nodded towards the opening, his tone bitter, “after _you_.”

Chara chuckled. “Why, isn’t it a bit rude to make the child go first into an obvious trap?” they asked.

“You’re _not_ a child.” He pointed at the hole. “Besides, it’s best I keep my eyes on you, anyway, _brother killer_.”

Chara flinched. They hadn’t heard that insult in a long time. “...Tch. Fine—whatever.”

Glaring, they got on their hands in knees, climbing inside.

Papyrus watched them go, his arms wrapped around himself in almost a comforting manner. They crawled, growing smaller and smaller—until eventually, Papyrus couldn’t see them at all, watching them drop off into nothing.

Letting out a sigh, he looked up at the ceiling, absolutely miserable. “I hope you’re okay, Sans.”

And with that, he crawled inside, the cupboard door slamming closed behind him.

_Bang!_


	10. LOST AND FOUND

Aster felt warm. He’d felt nothing for a long time; lost in a world all by himself. He screamed at first, calling out for help, trying to find a way out—but he just couldn’t.

So he’d slept.

He felt warm; someone else’s magic. He couldn’t place it. What were they doing? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

He slept.

The warmth was calming. Familiar, almost, like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time. There were moments where he wanted to wake up—an annoying, persistent nudge in the back of his mind telling him that something was wrong, that someone was in danger—but every time he got close, the warmth would pull him back, holding him prisoner.

He slept...

...And then the world dipped, and everything came crashing down.

He opened his eyes to find himself falling. The drop seemed endless, whether he looked up or down. Walls of dirt rushed passed, flying high as he fell down below. The ground was coming up to him fast.

He was so caught off guard by it that he couldn’t even scream.

_Holy shit—_

He went to reach out to grab something, perhaps a branch sticking out form the walls surrounding him, only to find that he couldn’t. Arms tightened around him, pinning his arms, keeping him against a warm, tattered body. The person holding him whooped, _laughing_ , as though this was the funniest thing to ever happen to them. The _nerve_ of them!

But then, his fingers digging into their sweaters, he noticed the pattern of their shirt, and clarity washed over his face.

The laughing made more sense all of a sudden.

_Frisk?_

His breathing hitched as they flew faster and faster down, a scream bubbling up in his throat and tearing itself free. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out what was happening, attempting to trick his brain—to no avail.

He thrashed in the human’s arms, adrenaline pumping through him, the boy unable to sit still. His mind wouldn’t stop chattering.

 _Oh God oh God I’m gonna die I’m_ dead _what do I do shitshitshit someone_ help _..._

He hit the dirt—

THWUMP.

—and, pain blossoming in his skull, returned to the darkness.

 

***

 _“Come on, come_ on _...this_ will _work, it_ has _to...”_

_Wingdings paces back and forth in his lab, his movements frantic, mumbling despite the fact that he’s the only living person in the room. Sweat drips down his jaw, his lab coat sticking to him in the intense heat that came with Hotland. He busied himself with a control panel, pulling switches and pushing buttons faster than even he could comprehend, typing in code into a machine that was cold at best and cruel at its worst._

_Two tables are set up in the room, being the main focus of the research taking place there. Two lifeless, desolate skeletons rested on top of them, their eye sockets empty and limbs lying helplessly still. The smaller of the two skeletons lies on his side, another body taking up the table._

_Aster._

_His breathing labored, his skin cold and clammy, the other twin sleeps uneasily, unresponsive to the events unfolding around him. His soul hovers above him, glowing dimly, its cracked, dusty exterior shaking in the red-doused lab._

_Aster’s stomach churns, watching from Sans’s perspective, lying immobile next to his own body._ This...

This is when I fell down.

Beep, beep, beep _—_

_“Dammit!”_

Thunk!

_A siren goes off, followed by Dings slamming his fists against the machine’s screen. It cracks, though remains eligible. The red lights hooked up to the walls flash at a constant pace, the room flashing red, black, red, black._

...Why am I seeing this? _He wonders. How_ am I? I couldn’t...I couldn’t remember before, so...

 _“No, no, no,_ no _...”_

_Wingdings frets over the machine a moment, looking it over. Finding it futile, he growls, kicking it in his frustration._

_“_ Work _, dammit!”_

Dings...

He...really tried to bring me back?

_With a groan, the other brother runs over to Aster’s side, hands gripping the edge of the table hard enough that his knuckles turn white._

_Aster remains unconscious. Unmoving._

_Wingdings eyes are filled with tears. He hesitates, looking between his brother and the experiments, his teeth bared._

_“Aster, please...don’t die on me.”_

Beep, beep—

_Still, the sirens blare._

_Still, Aster lies, his body slowly crumbling to nothing but dust._

_Wingdings’s fists shake. “...Fine.” He reaches forward, grabbing onto Aster’s soul. “You have left me no other choice.”_

Shing!

_Aster’s heart races. He watches as Wingdings summons an attack, needles pointed right at his soul._

Dings?

_“I can’t do this without you,” the other murmurs, choking, on the verge of crying. “I am...sorry.”_

Dings, wait, **don’t** —

_Shing!_

_The first thing to fly is the blood; spraying from the smaller brother’s chest, pooling on the table and floor. Dust speckles the air, Wingdings’s hands, his clothes._

_Aster’s body disintegrates into nothing._

_His soul stays intact, held tightly in his brother’s hand._

_Wingdings’s mouth twists._

_“Brother, please—”_

_He pleads to nothing, to the air, rounding around the table, his vision blurred from the tears. Steams of words flow from his mouth, a nonsensical babble as he shoves the soul inside the corpse—inside_ Aster _, unbeknownst to Wingdings—lying on the table, not wasting a second even as Aster’s soul begins to dust._

 _“Don’t leave...please, don’t leave me, please,_ please _...”_

Ping!

_Wingdings sets his hands on top of the skeleton, his hands alight in a bright green glow, his whole body shaking. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him._

_His movements are frantic as he works on healing the body before him, his eyes wild, focused on nothing other than Aster’s soul resting in Sans’s chest cavity._

_Aster is frozen, unable to move. Unable to speak._ Dings, stop _, he wants to say, wants to grab him by his arms and hold him still,_ this is crazy, do you know what this is going to do, this isn’t worth it, it was _never_ worth it, just let me go, let me _go_ —

Ping!

_Both of them freeze as his soul solidifies, Aster’s vision filling with blue._

_Blue magic flows from Sans’s eyes._

_Wingdings blinks, shocked, stepping away. “I...I...”_

_He backs into Papyrus’s table, his tears spilling freely down his face._

_He laughs._

_“I...I did it! I—”_

Brrrrriiiing—

_Wingdings is interrupted by the sound of an alarm going off, the machine at the front of the lab flashing red. He turns to it, perplexed, wondering what on earth could be wrong now—_

_BOOM!_

_It explodes._

_Wingdings flies back, his body colliding with Papyrus on the table, knocking them both onto the floor. Alarms screech throughout the room, smoke and fire crawling on the floor, the ceiling._

_The scientist falls limp, motionless besides the taller skeleton._

_His soul hovers above him—_

Ping!

_—and joins with the skeleton, who’s eyes alight with orange magic._

_Aster’s breathing hitches, scrambling in the corners of his mind, watching as the flames draw nearer and nearer. He needs to move. He needs to grab Dings and go—but his body won’t move. He doesn’t have control._

_…But someone else does._

_Aster’s forced to stand, wobbling, his balance thrown off from all the pain and confusion. His bones crack, his vision blurred with colors, and yet he stumbles, coughing as the smoke assaults him._

_Slowly, arms wrapped around his middle, Aster shuffles around the table, wheezing. He notices Wingdings’s still body lying lifeless on the floor, his chest aching at the sight._

No…

_Sans is indifferent._

_Ducking his head, his nonexistent lungs burning with the effort to breathe, he makes his way over to the other skeleton, whose eyes still glow a vibrant orange. He opens his mouth and lets out a noise, as if trying to form a word, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how to speak._

_The other skeleton is unresponsive to him, a useless lump on the tile._

Cr- _ack_!

_The ceiling above groans, sagging in. A wooden beam splits and falls, crashing onto the table._

_Sans jumps and hides in Papyrus’s side, holding onto him for dear life._

_The fire eats away at the walls. The staircase leading up to the exit is still untouched, inviting them over._

_But not for long._

_Sans grunts, pulling himself up. He wraps Papyrus’s arm around his shoulders, acting as his support, dragging him over to the stairs. He struggles to breathe, coughing as the smoke becomes suffocating._

_As he limps towards the stairs, Sans notices something strange from the corner of his eye. In the midst of the crackling fire and the thick, rolling smoke, a form slinks closer, gurgling, oozing slime. Its grotesque, melted features slide off its garbled mass into a puddle on the floor, the fire’s heat only speeding up the process. It seems to be speaking, though Sans can’t understand it._

_But Aster can._

_“HU!*RT$ HURT*@S IT H$*R!TS—”_

_“M!ST!*@KE WE*VEE MA@ &DE MIST*@STAKDE M@*#ISTA*eEKE—” _

_“F)*OUL *@hOR*RID D &$ISGU*#$TIN* CRE*27TURES—”_

_“HATE Y*OU I H@*$E YO* DISG*ST*)#NG—”_

_“RU*@NED *@eVERYTHHI((NG RU@$N@ED MY LIF*#E N*OOT8A M^Y BRROOT*THER—”_

_“GE*T AWAY FROMM ME* ****—”_

_Purple and red eyes lock onto him, picking him out from its surroundings. Sans, his bones crawling just looking at it, freezes, unsure of what to do._

_It screams, charging at him._

_“Y*IOUER FAU* LT YOU*(RE FAU—AAAA—L^^T YOU’RE FA8RULT YOU &&RE FAULTT—AAAAAAAAAAAA—”_

_Crack!_

_The ceiling caves, a wooden beam dropping on the screaming creature. It lets out a horrid screech as its crushed, falling silent._

_Whimpering, Sans makes a break for the stairs, dragging Papyrus along with him._

_As they exit, the fire eats away at the stairs, the ceiling dropping on top of it long after they’ve reached safety._

_The skeletons are safe…and any evidence of Wingdings and Aster is lost in that basement, lost the moment their souls joined with the skeletons. The biproducts of their experiment, the culmination of their hatred, their greed, lies crushed under a wooden beam, sent to a hell it would never understand._

_But of course, this is Aster and Wingdings—and Dr. Gaster is very patient, even if it must relive this night a thousand times over just to make things right._

_Aster is unaware, of course. He’s too caught up playing catch up with his mind as the memory fades to even think of what this might mean for him and everyone else trapped in the Void._

_Just as the Doctor wants._

***

 

“…As…ter? Aster, wa…ke up!”

The world came back hazy and blurred to him, but he could tell it was a lab of some kind; obscured by sleep and a persistent, pounding headache at his temples. Someone hovered over him, concerned, shaking him gently by the shoulders and calling his name.

Aster blinked away sleep, groaning, pushing the person away so he could sit up. He massaged his temples, trying to will the headache away to no avail. “Ugh…wh-what’s going o— _oh Jesus Christ Papyrus—_ ”

The child flailed, scrambling away from the skeleton, who jumped back in surprise.

Papyrus waved his hands, trying to calm him down. “Hey, hey, relax! I was just seeing if you were alright.”

Aster narrowed his eyes. “Alright?” He shuffled away from the skeleton, grunting, hand still caressing his aching head. “Why wouldn’t I be alright—did you do something to me?”

“What? Goodness, no! Give me some credit—I have standards! Standards that involve not harming little children!” Papyrus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “…Frisk told us you hit your head during the fall.”

“Frisk?” Aster paused, the skeleton’s words falling poorly on his shoulders. Thinking back on it, he’d almost forgotten what’d led to his revisit to the past in the first place. “Oh, right…where are they?”

“Hi!”

“ _Ahh_ —” Aster whirled around, fist cocked, ready to throw a punch if needed.

Frisk grabbed it effortlessly, offering a bright, cheery smile. “Mornin’!” They chuckled, standing, still holding the boy’s hand. They pulled him to his feet, catching him when he stumbled. “Sleep well?”

Aster grumbled, glaring. “No!” He said, “I woke up to falling down a hole! And hitting my head—apparently. How’d all that happen, anyway?”

Frisk’s smile wavered. “…Sorry.”

“You _caused_ that?”

“Mm…”

“Children, please,” another voice joined, flitting from behind him, Aster’s skin crawling at the sound of it, “he just woke up. Give him some space.”

Aster yelped, diving behind Frisk. He clung to their arm hard enough to break bone, nails digging into their skin. The human tried to pry his grip from them, shaking him around, but they were unsuccessful. “Aster—”

The boy stared over their shoulder, wide-eyed, shaking like a leaf. He didn’t respond to their whine, nor to the curious stare Papyrus gave him. _No, no, no,_ he thought, _not them, anything but—_

Them.

Chara raised their eyebrows at the goop monster, hands on their hips. “Something wrong, jumpy?” They asked, smiling. He winced, though came to find that it lacked any malicious intent. Cockiness, yes, and a bit of smugness—but nothing evil. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Aster didn’t bother to let go of Frisk, “Oh, I’ve seen several.” Studying the other human up and down, he pointed at them, asking, “you’re not gonna pull anything, right? No freaky stabbing incidents?”

“Stabbing incidents?” Chara’s eyes widened, paling at the suggestion that they might have harmed him. Or someone else, though who, Aster didn’t know. “I…don’t believe so, no.”

“They’re good,” Frisk assured him, patting his hand. “ _Pro_ -mise.”

Aster narrowed his eyes. He glanced between the two of them, his grip letting up on Frisk’s arm. “…Alright.” He let them go, stepping around them and sighing. “Alright, fine.”

“You good now?” Chara hummed, leaning forward.

“Shut up, human.”

“I did.” Chara took a step forward, pointing at their mouth. “Buttercups—remember?”

Aster paled. He bowed his head, not responding. _Damn them…_

Frisk and Papyrus watched on, lost, not completely understanding the situation. Then, clapping his hands together, Papyrus stepped between them, declaring, “Alright! Time to get moving—we still don’t even know where we are, you know.”

Chara’s smug demeanor dropped, breaking their gaze from Aster’s to look up at the skeleton. They frowned, sighing. “Right,” They muttered, crossing their arms. “We don’t…”

“Where we are…?”

Aster looked around at the room, really looking at it for the first time since waking up. He’d been so shaken from seeing Papyrus and Chara again, he hadn’t even thought to inspect his surroundings.

His earlier assumptions turned out to be correct—the room was, in fact, a lab. A table cluttered with piles of paperwork was crammed into the corner, a computer lying among the mess flashing a static screen. A rack hanging on the wall held lab coats and other accessories, forever in use, considering the owners of the belongings wouldn’t be coming back to retrieve them. Sitting alone on the opposite wall, doors locked closed, was a closet, the stained wood sticking out like a sore thumb.

Aster’s mouth hung open at the sight of it all, arms wrapped around himself. “…I know where we are,” he breathed, his voice haunted.

The others shared confused looks. “Where are we, then?” Papyrus questioned, frowning at the child.

Aster studied the room a second more, walking off from the rest of the group, his hand falling on the closet handle.

“My lab.”

“ _This_ is your lab?” Chara demanded, waving a hand around.

“Empty,” Frisk quipped, eyes focused on the table full of long-forgotten documents.

Aster rolled his eyes, fingers wrapping around the handles. “ _This_ part isn’t my lab,” he said. “This part’s Wingdings’s study. The _actual_ lab…”

_Click!_

“…We keep hidden out of sight.”

He unlocked the doors, twisting the handles and swinging them open. As they did so, the scene beyond caused them all to freeze, the wind knocked from their lungs.

 _Whoa_.

The first thing that hit them was the stench. The whole room smelled of stale air and rotting meat, rolling out in a thick cloud that was almost enough to make Aster vomit. Pools of void matter, tar, blood and dust covered the floors, spattered on the walls, dripped from the ceiling. A broken machine sizzled off the side, blinking, red alarms flashing above. They made no sound.

What really stunned them, though, were the tables. They were lined up in rows; stretching from wall to wall, leaving little room to walk between them. Some of them, thankfully, were empty, holding nothing but empty air.

Others, however, were not.

Lying on the tables, souls hovering over their still bodies, were their friends. All were present; ranging from the Royal Family down to the Royal Scientist and ex-Guardsman. Their breathing was labored, shaky, coming out in quick, shallow huffs. They were all covered in injuries that stemmed from head trauma to stab wounds in their chests and abdomens.

Frisk ran forward, fretting over each one, whimpering. “What…why…?”

Chara followed after them, ghostly pale, their mouth agape but no sound coming out. They looked over their fallen family, utterly lost.

Aster, too, felt lost—until he noticed four tables situated at the front of the room.

His eyes widened.

_Wingdings!_

He couldn’t believe it. Lying on his side, his back turned to him, was his brother, and across from him, the missing skeleton brother. Both of them slept soundly, faring far better than the others, not a trace of pain on either of them.

Papyrus, too, seemed to notice this, gasping.

“ _Sans_!”

Frisk and Chara jumped at his shout, yelping when he slipped passed them, sliding to a halt next to his catatonic brother. Frisk followed shortly after, sobbing, leaning over the small skeleton almost as much as Papyrus.

“Sans, oh my God, you’re alive, you’re okay, you’re _okay_ —”

Strings of sentences flowed from the taller skeleton, scooping up the smaller into his arms and pulling him into his chest. His murmurings quickly derailed into incoherent crying.

Aster watched, his eyes focused more on Wingdings than Papyrus and Sans. His chest tightened at the sight of him, his knuckles turning white as he flexed his fingers, looking around. _This doesn’t make sense…_ , he thought, stepping forward. _They’ve…been here the whole time?_

_Shing!_

_“…Aster?”_

_“Sorry, Dingus…”_

_“Your brother is **dead**.” _

_Shing!_

Aster winced, gasping, backing up into the closet. _Wingdings…_

_I-I killed Wingdings, which means…which means…!_

Chara was the only one that noticed, giving him an odd look in response. “Aster?” they asked, tilting their head. “Are you alright?”

Aster panted, hands gripping the front of his sweater. Frantic, he shook his head. “No,” he gasped, “no, I’m—I’m _not_ okay, I…I…”

Frisk and Papyrus overheard his panic, looking up at him from the opposite side of the room, tear streaks running down their faces.

“This—this is a trap,” Aster said, pacing back and forth, unsure of what to do himself. Uncertain of where to go. “This is bad, we—we have to go, we have to go _now_ —”

“Aster—”

“What’s wrong—”

But Aster wasn’t listening. He whipped around, running towards the other room, hyperventilating. As much as it pained him, as much as it hurt to leave his brother behind, he couldn’t put himself in danger anymore. He had to get out.

He—

_Bang!_

Just as he reached the doors, the closet slammed shut, the lock slipping into place on the other side. Aster was knocked off his feet, flying backwards into one of the empty tables, grunting. His shoulder exploded with pain. _Ouch,_ shit _…_

“Aster!”

Chara rushed to his side, grabbing onto his arm. They pulled him up into a sitting position, gentle not to hurt him, the boy groaning in response.

“Here, come on, get up—”

_Beep, beep, beep—_

_Brrrrriiiinnngg…_

They all froze as alarms blared, the room dyed red as the lights above the broken machine flicked one, spinning and coloring them red, black, red, black. Laughter echoed around them, chatter obscuring the noise, growing louder and louder.

Static sounded in the other room, followed by footsteps.

“My, my,” a voice cooed, awfully full of itself, “what do we have here?”

They were trapped.


End file.
